Holland Road
by Itsalwaysthebunnies
Summary: The medics of Easy Company ride out their deployment in Iraq, facing the hardships and tragedies of war in the 21st century. Modern - AU Roe/OC
1. Chapter 1

**Uh, Hi? **

**Thanks for clicking on this story. I'll try to give you a good reading experience. **

**So this is the story of Easy Company, starting in "Bastogne" (aka in this story Halabjah) and carrying throughout the war, except in modern times. It is a Roe/OC, but I will do my best to try and make the OC as unMarySue as possible. If you have any suggestions or complaints on that front, please tell me, because I am really trying to do my best. **

**Well okay, back story. Easy is on tour in the Middle East (I'm not giving them a specific country even though that might be how its done, I really didn't want to restrict them to Iran or Afghanistan so... CREATIVE LICENCE) The OC, Claire Barton, is based off of Clara Barton, a field nurse in the American Civil War and founder of the Red Cross. She's kind of a badass. **

**So yeah, please enjoy. **

* * *

Chapter 1

Eugene Roe was lost. He knew he was lost, but it wasn't his fault. Every inch of this God-forsaken, arid, wastelands looked exactly the same to him- the same burnt dirt, the same dull rocks, the same sparse vegetation, the same radiating heat. It was easy to get lost.

Roe was in the in-between area: the deserted space spread between both Easy and Dog Company, too far away for either to be any help if he should fall into trouble. It was dangerous, but Roe had to do it. Otherwise men wouldn't live.

Easy Company had been holed up in the mountains on the border between Iran and Iraq for a week now. During the day the sun beat down upon the soldiers like they were in hell, at night it was as if God had chosen to freeze hell over. They had been shot at periodically, a few of the men had gotten injured but nothing too serious. The soldiers had little food, and little ammo, while Roe and the other medic were running low on bandages, morphine, sutures, alcohol, and basically anything else they need to keep serving the wounded.

So Roe carried on through the arid plain in the hopes of finding D Company well supplied and willing to share. Until he found the massacre.

Roe had smelt the reek of decay before he even saw the bodies. Past an outcropping of rock men in both American and Arab uniforms, lay sprawled in the bloodstained dust. Rotten flesh, made rancid by the sun's heat, hung off the soldier's bones, blood congealed around the bodies in dark pools, insects buzzed around, indiscriminately landing on the soldiers, feasting.

Broken bodies, and a red haze clouded Roe's mind. Bile and fear rose into his throat. Roe took a step back, away from the corpses. Horrific images of mangled people, blood coating his hands as he tried, futilely, to stem the flow, limbs being blasted off by a bombs or grenades, bones protruding from skin, the endless screams of pain and panic, swarmed his brain. Roe's face blanched. His mouth parted. Eyes glassed over. Numbness encased his mind.

And somehow he found the sense to move. One shuffling step, another, and then he ran. The heat didn't bother him anymore, he just had to get away.

In a daze Roe returned to camp, vivid memories of the grisly scene still haunting him behind his lids. "Roe!" A voice called out. Automatically Roe stopped, stood up straight, and turned, his body at attention but his mind elsewhere.

Captain Winters, half shaved, stood in his tent, flap open, a mirror in one hand and shaving cream in another. "Did you find anything?' Winters asked. Roe ducked inside the tent. He couldn't help but stare at a spot of red on Winters chin. Obviously he had nicked himself shaving; not life threatening, not disfigurement, a common normal injury. Roe felt the numbness lift slightly.

"No, I was making my way to D Company but I…" The bodies interrupted his speech, and his mouth went dry. "I uh, lost my way, Sir." Winters nodded.

"How much supplies do you and Barton have?" Winters asked. He returned his attention to the mirror.

"Not much, sir." Roe admitted. "Some gauze, few bandages; the Morphine, Narcan and Phenergan syringes are running low, along with clean needles; a few catheters but no IV drips to use it with; we keep some sick call meds and a cricothyrotomy kit on hand in the tent, but…"

"Cricothyrotomy?" Winters asked, confused.

"Basic surgical equipment to open the trachea." Winters unconsciously stroked his throat, smearing his shaving cream.

"I see." Winters removed his hand from his throat, and his face grew concentrated. "Well-" Whatever Winters was going to say got cut off.

"Captain!" Someone called, running up. Leibgott was red faced, out of breath, and in full combat fatigues. "Captain we found something." Behind him were two men, Muck and Malarkey, struggling to drag along a third, dressed in desert colored camouflage. The man had brown, tanned skin like leather, dark eyes, and a dark, trimmed beard.

An Arab. A prisoner.

"Found this around the back of camp. We took his gun." Malarkey boasted. The panting Leibgott presented the handgun to Winters. He took it and systematically unloaded it; to Roe, the sliding metal, and click of the bullet cartridge, sounded like death.

"Ask him why he's here." Winters commanded. Leibgott translated but the prisoner remained quiet. Winters sighed and turned to Malarkey. "Did you search him thoroughly?"

"Yes Sir, all we found is the gun and this." Roe perked up as a roll of bandages was exchanged. Winters passed it immediately to Roe, who took it gratefully.

"Alright if that's it, take him to CP." Muck and Malarkey drug the man off. Roe didn't care about the prisoner; he had something to augment their dwindling bandage supply.

Roe turned the bandage roll around in his hand as he walked. No one stopped him, which he was thankful for. He tried to remain aloof from the soldiers. Roe thought it was easier to cut and hack and cause pain if he didn't know the man on the receiving end. It was still hard.

The only person Roe really interacted with was Barton, and they were literally forced together. Their positions as medics, their limited opportunity to stay aloof, their shared living and operating space, made avoiding each other impossible.

When Claire Barton had joined the company after their last medic had got shot down in a failed mission in Turkey. She had been friendly, excited, sociable, young, and greatest of all, she smiled. The battle field was slowly robbing her of all her bright qualities. He knew she didn't sleep well, he would hear her tossing and turning at all hours of the unbearably cold nights as he himself lie awake. She would hardly eat, he would watch her as his own meal went unforgotten in his hands. They both suffered the same wounds.

Roe pushed open the flap of their tent to see Barton groggily turn in her cot. Her fatigues were strewn across the ground, but her pack lay within reach. Her grey eyes were highlighted by the dark circled under her eyes. He was angry with himself for waking her up.

"Find anything?" She yawned, sitting up.

"Bandage." Roe held it up for her inspection. Barton squinted.

"Doesn't look like one of ours." She commented. "Where'd you find it?"

"Arabic POW. Muck, Malarkey, and Leibgott brought him in." Barton nodded, digesting the information. Her face was emotionless and pale. Not in that she was fair skinned, no every soldier in this God forsaken desert had the same chestnut tan. Her tan skin was dead, lifeless, the pallor drained.

"Good, maybe we could trade him for supplies." Barton suggested. Roe shook his head; the idea had crossed his mind also.

"Any supplies they gave us would be worthless, and then we would be down a bargaining tool." It didn't bother Roe that he was thinking of the prisoner as a tool, little more than currency to be traded. It was war.

"I suppose." Barton nodded. "What happened? Did you find Dog Company?" Images of bodies crashed into Roe's vision. He felt dizzy and sank weakly into his own cot. Red. Red everywhere. The numbness seized control.

"Roe, Roe? You okay? Do you feel nauseous?" Her voice pulled Roe back to reality. He was here, in the tiny medic tent with Barton, his friend kneeling in front of him. "How long were you out in the heat? Did you drink water?" Roe knew she was going through the motions. She knew it was not heat stroke that made him so lethargic.

"Yeah." She took his wrist and measured his pulse. The soft pressure of her fingers kept him anchored. Roe focused on the movement of Barton's lips as she counted his heart rate out silently. His mind went blank. Not terrifyingly numb, but blissfully blank.

"What happened?" She asked after she was done. Barton removed her hand his life line was diminished.

"I got lost." Roe stated simply, horrified of any trigger that would make the decomposing bodies reappear in his mind. Barton searched his face, and then did what she had to - let the matter drop.

"I'm going to see if I can find D later, maybe I'll have more luck." Barton declared, straightening up to stand over Roe. Her figure was not imposing, she seemed small and fragile despite the dearth of evidence to support that. She was trained as a soldier and a paratrooper, even if she was just a medic.

"Take one of the men with you, and a map." He instructed. Roe wanted to make sure she was protected. While he could not, and would not, protect her from everything, at least he could prevent her from stumbling upon the same nightmare as himself.

"Okay." She assented.

"Have you been asking for med kits?" Roe inquired as Barton moved to put on her fatigues.

Shaking out her pants and slipping them on over her shorts Barton answered. "Yeah, I've started organizing them on the bench." She nodded towards the wood plank, thrown across two saw horses that they had generously nicknamed 'the bench'. On top was a scant amount of syringes, bandages, and gauze. "I've asked-" And that's when the first shell went off.

Both the medics jumped, and grasped instinctively for their packs. Soon enough the call of "MEDIC!" echoed through the camp, along with gun shots, shouting, and chaos.

Barton was out of the tent first, still pulling on her jacket as she ran. Roe watched her disappear into the confusion of bullets, dust, and rock. The courage to follow her into the fray had deserted Roe. He could only picture the bodies. The rotting bodies, except this time it was of his friends. This would be so much worse. "MEDIC!" The call sounded again. "DOC!" Roe finally forced himself out of the tent.

Dust hung in clouds, blasted into the air by bombs. Men ran around Roe, shouting or shooting or both. Most were taking cover behind rock outcroppings, but Roe didn't have that luxury. He sprinted forward, taking any scant cover he could find.

The call for a medic had stopped. Either Barton had gotten there or the soldier had died.

Still Roe ran.

* * *

Barton answered the call for a medic. Two soldiers were huddled behind a rather pointy and tall spire, closed in by a sheer rock face. Immediately she sensed the injury. Penkala was grabbing his wrist as his gun mate alternated between worried looks at him, and worried looks towards the line. "Angel! It's the artery! It's the artery! Oh God I'm going to bleed out!" Penkala cried in hysteria.

Dropping to her haunches, Barton took his wrist sharply in her hand. "Relax your arm!" She commanded. Penkala clenched his fist tighter.

"It's the artery!" He repeated. Barton almost slapped him. His words catalyzed her own panic.

"RELAX YOUR ARM PENKALA!" She shouted at him, her voice cracked slightly. In response to the order, Penkala's fingers uncurled and his forearm settled. It took Barton one look to know his fear was misguided. "It's not the artery." She reported her findings. Her hand dived into her pack, searching for disinfectant and gauze. The cut was still jagged and dangerous, but it was not the artery, thank God.

"I ain't coming off the line Doc," Penkala swore, grabbing her other arm for emphasis. "I ain't going out there." His eyes focused on the chaos of the battle field.

"You won't have to, you have me." Barton answered, shaking off Penkala's grip. "Now, I'm just going to-" Her words were cut off by a ping, and a sharp pain in her back. Some force threw her forward and she landed across Penkala's lap.

"Barton!" Roe's familiar Cajun voice cut through her confused mind. Barton shook herself. The repetitive phrase she used every day echoed through her head. _You're alright, You're alright. Just do your job. _

Forcing herself to sit up, Barton returned to her kneeling position. "Sorry about that Penkala, jumped." She explained as she continued to wrap his wrist. Roe was at her side, his had rested on her shoulder. "I'm alright." She echoed.

Roe didn't say anything, but took his hand off her. "Okay Penkala, you're done. Don't take the bandage off until tomorrow morning. If the wound is red, or puffy, or if you feel light headed or feverish, come see me." Penkala seemed to gain control over his panic enough to digest this information. "Good."

The bullets had stopped falling when Barton was still bandaging Penkala. She stood up as naturally as she could manage with the pain in her back. Even with being careful, a grimace escaped her controlled face.

Roe was by her side in an instant. "Where?" He whispered. Barton shook her head.

"Back," She answered in equally as low of tones.

Wounds are as common as rocks in Easy's camp, but usually the wound came with a certain, expected, but still hardly enough, time to recover; either from lighter work, or rest in Halabjah (their CP). With a medic there could be no recovery time. Easy could not spare either Roe or Barton, for any length of time. It would be better to minimize panic by keeping the wound a secret.

"Ricochet probably." Roe assessed. "Two punctures," Roe had transitioned into his medic mind set. It was as if he could just turn off his fear and agony – Barton was jealous. "I'll need to take it out."

Barton nodded. _You'll be alright. _She assured herself.

"Everyone else alright?" Barton asked.

"Yes." And then they were silent.

Men rushed around them, carrying ammunition of supplies back and forth. People emerged from tents and people went into tents. Some laughed with each other, some shouted, some were just quiet. Occasionally people would stop Roe and Barton to give them spare bandages or disinfectants, but for the most part they were ignored.

When the pair had successfully negotiated their way back to their tent Barton let her resolve falter. She grimaced, the only outward sign of her pain. Roe held the tent flap open for her. "Sit down." He ordered as she walked past.

Barton looked around for the chair that they didn't have. "Where?" She asked. Roe looked around as well. Finally he pulled his cot away from the canvas wall.

"Here." He instructed. Barton perched on the edge and tried to take off her jacket. "Damn it Barton, wait for me." Roe's accent sounded thicker. Maybe his became more pronounced with stress, just like hers.

Slowly, Roe helped her ease the jacket off, revealing the bloody undershirt she wore. "I need scissors." He complained. Roe had pulled the bench next to them, and settled himself behind her. Barton wished she could see, but every time she craned her neck pain shot from her back like lightning.

She felt Roe's fingers gently brush her injury as he ripped her shirt. The contact made her pain flare violently. "Lean forward," He said. Barton sucked in her breath and did as he commanded. She hissed as the pain struck.

"I know it hurts." Roe soothed, as he tore the fabric of her sports bra to get a better look at one of the holes. Barton was surprised at how comforted she was by those little words.

"I'm going to have to get the fragments out." Roe said, examining the dark red holes in Barton's back. Every time his fingers accidentally touched the wounds she tensed. He knew she was trying to suppress the pain, and he hated it. He hated how she was in pain. He hated how much pain he would cause her in the process of fixing her. He hated how after he finished healing her, she would still be in pain. He hated how after the dark red holes closed, she would scar. He hated it all.

But Roe forced himself to do it, because if he didn't the result would be much worse. Picking forceps from his pack, Roe steeled himself. "Be brave." He said to himself just as much as to her, and dug in.

Barton gasped, and her muscles tensed, Roe forced himself to keep going. He pulled the skin further apart to get a better angle. Barton whimpered, and that sound stabbed him. But he kept going. After a few, long, minutes Roe dislodged the first bullet shard. He inspected the metal and the fabric which it had carried with it. In a wave of disgust he cast the bullet away, not carrying to see where it landed. He would have to find it later and dispose of it properly, but in that instant Roe just wanted it as far from Claire and him as possible. "First one gone, Claire." Roe informed her, trying to make his voice as soft and comforting as possible.

Claire. When did he start calling her Claire?

Roe began on the second bullet fragment, and pain began again, and again he found it.

Claire was panting as Roe set the bullet on the bench. "I think you'll need stitches." Roe informed her. He saturated a cotton swab with Hydrogen Peroxide. "This will sting, I'm sorry." He wiped the blood away. Roe focused on how the red stain disappeared from her back, instead of the sounds of pain Claire was trying to suppress.

Roe was hyper-aware of how tiny she was. Her ribs cage stuck out prominently, and, despite her obvious muscle, she seemed weak. Her skin was clammy and warm to the touch, but that could be a byproduct of the radiating heat.

How could he cause her so much pain? How could healing someone cause so much pain? The blood oozed out of her wounds at a slow pace. He was sick of blood, sick of pain. Why can't it just end? He hesitated with the suture, unable to force himself to carry on.

"Roe?" Claire murmured. Roe didn't answer. "Just do it. Please." Her voice sounded so feeble.

A bitter taste stung the back of his throat as he pierced her skin. Healing an injury, with injuries. Small rivets of blood dripped from the puncture wound, pooling in her white undershirt. Claire tensed and bit back a moan.

After too long, Roe was finished. He cleaned her back, and taped gauze over the stitches. He tried to be gentle, as if that would negate all the pain he caused.

"Thank you." Claire murmured. Roe's fingers traced the tape one last time. She wasn't supposed to get hurt. No one was supposed to get hurt. Why did they have to get hurt? The numbness crept back into his mind, he was beginning to welcome it.

"Roe?" She turned around slowly. His hands didn't move, still ridged in the space where her back used to be. Claire took them in her own, steady hands. "Eugene?" He hardly recognized his own name. All he could focus on was the dried blood around her fingers. They matched his. "Gene." Her soft whisper brought him out of his down spiral, if only temporarily.

"Barton?" He answered and looked up into her face. She carried an aura of serene empathy. The numbness receded.

"You have me," She whispered. "I know how you feel. I know the horror, and the pain." If anyone else had said that Roe wouldn't have believed them. But Claire sees what he sees. "You're not alone. I'll be here. That's what helps me. Knowing you'll be there, to bare this with me. So don't feel as if you have to carry it alone." Roe couldn't look away. She was right. She helped bear the trauma. She helps him continue on.

"Thank you." Roe . Claire squeezed his hands, and let go. She stood while he sat, contemplating what she said.

There were times when he wanted to pass off his damage onto someone else, let someone else crumble under the burden. But knew, if offered the chance, he wouldn't. Just knowing that Claire was crumbling under the same burden made him want to take it from, give her the rest he never could. Not because she was a woman, not because she was small and fragile; simply because he couldn't stand to see anyone in pain. His sole desire was to fix people, at any personal suffering. But he didn't have to suffer alone, Claire stood with him.

"I'm going to beg med kits." Barton said. Roe ducked down and scooped up her jacket.

"Don't strain your back too much." He instructed as he helped her into it. Barton nodded. Her blood was unrecognizable midst the multitudes of other stains.

"I won't." She said. She smiled faintly at him, and left.

* * *

**A/N:** **Thanks for reading. If you see any mistakes or anything poorly done, please don't hesitate to tell me. Please review if you liked it, and if you didn't review just to tell me what a bugger all shit job I did. **

**Okay so I don't make any promises to upload frequently (if you chose to follow me on this adventure with me), but I will try to update as soon as possible. Please be patient. **

**Also the story behind the nickname "Angel" for Barton is next chapter, but really it seams from the nickname for Clara Barton as "The Angel of the Battlefield". **

**Thank you for reading, I love you. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello, wow its only been a week (I think. Time is very wibly wobly to me)**

**First and Foremost, THANK ALL YALL WHO REVIEWED/FAVORITED/FOLLOWED THIS STORY (ESPECIALLY .77 and yui!) ! I WOULD HUG YOU BUT THAT MIGHT BE GOING A LITTLE FAR. And because I was so excited I battled through sleep exhaustion to edit and bring this second chapter to you. It's almost 1,000 words longer than my first!**

**There will be a note at the end of the chapter, please read it. **

Chapter 2

"MEDIC!" Roe sprinted across the exploding battlefield. His chest was tight and his legs were tired, but he kept going. Rock and bullets fell around him, and dust pricked at his dry eyes. He saw the source of the noise. Sisk and Perconte were clustered together. Sisk's leg was coated blood and dirt. His pant leg was torn apart, much like the flesh underneath.

"Move!" Roe yelled at Perconte. "Watch the line!" And Perconte anxiously shoulder his gun, nervously glaring at the empty desert.

Sisk was writhing in pain, cursing all that was holy. Shards of rock stuck out like darts. The blood covered Roe's hands the instant he touched the injury. "It ain't that bad." Roe breathed. His hands were slick as he tried to pull the rock out. Sisk was still gasping for breath.

"Not that bad?" He stuttered. Roe discarded the shards of rock to the side, rubbing disinfectant on the wound. Sisk screamed.

"Jesus, Skinny." Perconte swore. Roe tried not to let Sisk's screams bother him.

"Get a jeep," Roe ordered, opening a bandage. Perconte scrambled for his radio.

The bandage staunched the blood, at least temporarily. Sisk winced and groaned in pain. Roe automatically reached in his pack for one of their precious morphine shots. "No Doc," Sisk shook his head. "I'll make it." Roe nodded and slung his pack over his shoulder.

"Come on Perconte, help me lift him." Perconte struggled to discard his gun. "That jeep on the way?" Perconte assured him it was.

And then Roe was running again, this time carrying another man. Perconte slipped once and sent both Roe and Sisk collapsing to the ground. Sisk's shrieks grated Roe's already shredded nerves.

A jeep was waiting for them at the edge of camp. The driver took Perconte's place and helped Roe hoist Sisk up to the back seat. "Perconte!" Roe commanded as he climbed in after Sisk. "Tell Barton I've gone to Halabjah."

Perconte was still nodding as Roe slammed the door.

"Doc, tell me straight." Sisk gasped as the jeep rattled down the cracked and deserted pavement. "How bad is it?" Roe was crouched in between the front and the back seats and so couldn't clearly see Sisk's face.

"I told you, not that bad." Roe reiterated. The driver was quiet.

"Jesus, Doc." Sisk moaned. Roe checked to see if the bandage was holding.

When they finally arrived to Halabjah, men swung the back door open, pulling Sisks out onto a strecher. "Watch the leg!" Roe commanded as he clambered out. "No drugs."

The town looked spent: buildings were half collapsed, bodies were piled up next to walls, and civilians meandered through clusters soldiers, scared and lost. There was one, large, standing building, extremely old, and bearing a red cross which someone had haphazardly painted on the large door. The soldiers bore the stretcher into the old building, Roe followed.

Once inside, the stench hit him like a punch to the gut, driving all breath from his body. It was like walking upon the massacre sight except multiplied by a million. Blood and rot hung on the air. Roe froze, teetering between falling to his knees and running out of there as fast as he could. Death lingered everywhere. Roe just needed to get away, get away, _get away_.

But Sisk needed him. The company needed him.

_Sisk was out of his hands now_, his selfish, scared, subconscious argued. His heart rate picked up, bile rose in his throat. _Get away, get away __**get away**_. Roe scrambled any semblance of strength to keep him from running. Anything. Any God-given smidge of courage.

Memories of soft hands enclosing his, talk of shared burdens, promises of permanence. He did not have to go through this sickness alone.

And Roe moved.

The vile stench only got worse as Roe descended into the hospital. Roe prayed silently for resolve, and clung to the memories of Claire. He could bear this if she would help him. God help them both.

The floor of the building was covered in beds, with injured men in various states of dying. A lucky few had IV's strung on rickety stands next to their cots, but most were simply lying unconscious as nurses tried futile to stop their bleeding. Sisk grimaced, Roe knew it was not from pain.

"Jabir!" A man carrying Sisk yelled. A man in a white shirt and dark pants looked up from another wounded soldier. Roe was more surprised than he should to see a dark Arab face. "Lower leg wound. No drugs." Jabir nodded.

Roe looked around. Supplies. That's what Barton and he needed. This place must have extras. Jabir checked Sisk's bandage and called for someone in Arabic, striding off through the beds and the injured. "Sir!" Roe called after him. "Sir! I need supplies."

"Wait! I will be with your man in a minute!" Jabir turned and all but yelled at Roe.

Roe stopped and obediently went back to Sisk. "What is this, Doc?" He asked looking around in sheer horror and revulsion.

"We have nowhere to go." One of the passing medics said. "Easy?" Roe nodded. "Fox. I just got pulled from my company to help out here when we were pushed back." The man's eyes were glassy, his face pale and gaunt - the true sign of a medic. Without a closing word the man went back to his work.

"Shit." Sisk muttered in awe. Roe said nothing, just held on to the feeling of Claire's hands around his. Supplies. She would be so happy if he brought back supplies.

Jabir reappeared, this time with a woman in a hijab. He was speaking quickly in Arabic to her, Roe waited patiently for him to finish. The woman nodded. "You'll need sutures and compression bandages for some days." Jabir explained to Sisk. "This woman will take care of you." And the woman moved forward. Jabir gestured to Roe, and with that he and Sisk were parted.

"I need bandages, morphine, catheters, any drugs. We're almost out of everything." Roe explained. Jabir was leading him away from the wounded men. "Scissors too."

"There is not much I can spare." Jabir spoke softly as he led Roe into a mostly empty room, boxes gathered against one wall. He placed an empty box in Roe's arms, and filled it with torn scraps of fabric (Jabir told him they were bandages), a bottle of rubbing alcohol and hydrogen peroxide each, tape, and morphine syringes. "Thank you." Roe said gratefully. Jabir nodded and walked off. Roe followed him. "I'm Roe. Where you from?" The question was innocent.

"I live here. I was a dentist, and this was my Mosque." Jabir answered without turning around. Roe looked down at the supplies in his arms, trying to imagine what it must be like to have your home turned into this hell. "You're American?"

"Yes sir." Roe replied. "Louisiana." Jabir stopped to check on a patient.

"Forgive me Roe, I do not know all of your states." His tone wasn't cruel, nor hard. It was just tired.

"Forgive me, I don't know all yours." Roe replied. "Thank you again for the supplies." Jabir turned from his patient to share an exhausted smile with Roe. Roe wondered what he had to smile about.

"You're welcome. Stay safe." He implored. Then Roe left, ascending the stairs out of the sickening room, back to the heat and dust above.

A jeep stood waiting for him. "Are you here for me?" Roe asked and the driver nodded.

The drive back was inauspiciously quiet. Roe had nothing to say, and neither did the driver. The stench of mangled bodies still clung to Roe's clothes. He desperately needed a shower.

In camp, the atmosphere was dark and tense. Roe stared at the men; some sitting, some carrying out perfunctory tasks, many were silent and no one laughed. This wasn't like Easy. Even when they were suffering through hell, Luz was always cracking a joke, Muck was being sarcastic, someone was at least doing something to keep them all from falling into depression.

Roe continued on through the silent camp, each step quickening as the eerie quiet unnerved him. They were like ghosts, silent and grave.

In a desperate push, Roe rushed into the medic tent. Claire was sitting on her cot, fingers laced, eyes blank. He knew the look.

"Barton?" Roe murmured. Now it was his turn to share the load. "Claire?" She didn't move. He set the box down loudly and finally, Claire jumped. She blinked rapidly and reached automatically for her medic bag. "Claire?" Roe whispered again, trying to sound gentle.

"How's Skinny?" She questioned, sinking back into her statuesque position. Roe came over and sat beside her. Fresh blood covered her hands, but she hadn't washed them.

"He's going to be alright." Roe informed her. "What happened." Claire sighed.

"Julian's dead." Her voice was monotone, but her hands clenched violently, excess blood oozing from her tight fist.

* * *

Barton walked among men, checking for injuries. She looked in vain for the man who had cried for a medic. She had tried to respond to the call, but couldn't find the victim. She had stood in a hail of fire, confused, scared, and guilty, until someone, Shifty Barton learned later, roughly dragged her to safety. Barton was pretty sure some of her stiches were ripped.

The panic she had felt when the cry for a medic had ceased to carry across the battlefield, dwindled. No one had come to her, asking to fill out a causality notice at least.

But the fear and guilt still hung heavy in her heart. Who had it been? Could she have fixed them? Where were they now? How could she had been so cowardly as to not respond?

"Angel?" Someone called over the distance. "Where's Angel?" She responded.

"Yes?" She called back. "I'm here." It was Perconte. "Are you hurt?" Perconte shook his head, but Barton could tell the blood on his pants was fresh. "Who is then?" Unconsciously her hand slipped to her medic pack, ready.

"Skinny. Doc had to take him into town." Perconte shifted nervously. "It looked pretty bad, Angel. Doc kept saying it wasn't that bad, but…" Perconte shook his head.

Barton wanted to crumple. Why did her men keep getting hurt? "I'm sure if Roe thinks it's not that bad, it's not that bad. He's pretty good like that." Barton had a job to reassure, just as much as to heal, and right now she wasn't doing too well at the latter. "Where was the wound?"

"Lower leg. Some rock caught him." Perconte looked a little sick. Barton patted his shoulder. Her stitches pulled painfully at her skin.

"He's going to be fine." Perconte smiled slightly. Then his eyes widened. "Oh, I heard you were asking around for aid kits." He pulled his out and handed it to her. Barton took it gratefully.

"Thank you." Barton nodded. And Perconte was gone, whisked away to complete some other order of business.

Barton ambled through the crowds, asking soldiers if they were injured, and when they answered no, if they still had their aid kits. It kept her mind off of Roe, and how he and Sisk were faring.

"Barton, you're needed up at HQ." The order came from one of the soldiers, Peacock she thought, and Barton followed it immediately.

HQ for Easy Company was nothing more than a tarp thrown up between rock outcroppings with a fold out table, covering in maps and papers. Winters, Nixon, and the other COs, including, miraculously, Dike, stood around the table. "Where's Roe?" Dike asked apprehensively, before anyone else got a chance to speak. Barton frowned. "The senior medic should be the one for this mission."

Commander Dike was the most cowardly man Barton ever knew. Roe had told her that Winters used to be Easy Company's Senior Commanding Officer, until he got promoted for 'bravery and valor' in a mission on the outskirts of Baghdad. Barton selfishly wished he had never been promoted. Winters was an excellent Captain: he related to the men, led by example and not by yelling, and was able to keep the men in line by respect and admiration.

Norman Dike was a horrible commander: he didn't try and communicate to the soldiers under his command, he screeched out bullshit orders as if it made him seem more powerful, and all of the soldiers hated him. Foxhole Norman (as the soldiers had nicknamed him soon after his arrival) ran and hid every time a gun went off.

Just his little comment about wanting a senior medic made her blood boil. Technically she outranked Roe as a fully-fledged doctor and surgeon while Roe was just a medic. Normally these small facts were forgotten; Roe didn't need an M.D. to be one of the finest doctors Barton has ever met. If anyone else had asked for Roe she would have whole-heartedly agreed with them, but when the comment was uttered from Dike's mouth, the words suddenly turned malicious.

"Barton is perfectly qualified for this mission." Winters said stridently. Obviously he didn't like conferring with Dike any more than she.

"I'll do what you need me to, Sir." She said, suppressing the acrid edge to her words.

Winters nodded approvingly. "Where is Roe then?" Nixon broke in. He was the most casual out of the bunch, nonchalantly sipping out of his hip flask. Barton appreciated that.

"Skinny got hurt, so Roe took him to Halabjah." Barton answered. Winters grew somber. "Perconte said Roe said he is gonna be alright." She added quickly.

"Good," Winters muttered. "Alright." And his entire posture shifted, back straightened, eyes focused, hands placed behind his back. It made everyone in the group stand taller. "The attack that just occurred was conducted using short range grenade launchers and rifles. That means the Arabs had to have been close while attacking. It's probably why they sent a scout so near our camp. Anyway, we were discussing having a patrol sent out after them, to see if _their _base is close by as well. And if it is, we can finally start returning fire." The plan sounded so simple. "We wanted a medic to accompany the patrol, but stay out of harm's way. Do you understand?" Winters looked Barton straight in the eye, forcing her to listen. "The patrol shouldn't need you, but I don't want any men lost today."

Barton nodded. "Yes Captain." He turned to Dike.

"I want you to assemble the men, and choose a leader." Winters face tightened as he said this. "Then report back to me the men you've chosen." Dike kept his face controlled but Barton could see the relief in his eyes. The other men deserved a rest – not him.

"Yes Captain." Dike nodded enthusiastically, and saluted before walking out from under the tarp. Barton made to do the same thing.

"Barton, I wanted to speak to you for a second." Winters said. Nixon took the hint and slunk away, squinting into the sunshine.

"Yes sir?" Barton responded. Her fingers gripped the straps of her medic pack tightly. She was nervous about going on patrol, but even more nervous for the men going on patrol. It wasn't a good idea to chase soldiers with grenade launchers back to their home. Her mind churned up images of bodies being blasted apart just as rock had moments before.

"I'm serious about you hanging back. Trail the patrol at a few feet at least. I know you're new to Easy Company, and you might be trying to prove yourself, but we cannot afford to lose a medic." Winters ordered. "Not here. Not anywhere." Barton nodded.

"Yes sir." Barton replied.

"Good, I want to hear that it's done, Corporal. I also noticed neither Roe nor you carry weapons." Barton nodded again.

"I can not speak for Roe sir, but I'm a doctor, not a soldier." Barton answered.

"I want you to start carrying your pistol, both of you." Winters commanded. Barton nodded, although she was terrified of even touching the hand gun they had issued her. "And tell Roe when you see him, that I want to speak to him also."

"Yes, Sir." Barton said for the last time, before saluting and exiting the small patch of shade.

Within five minutes, Barton had collected the spare bandages and supplies into her pack, ready to depart. She secured her helmet on her head, and checked to make sure her fatigues were in check. She looked at the gun lying on the bench.

To her knowledge, neither she nor Roe had fired a shot. They were technically issued rifles as well, but Easy Company couldn't afford to spare any weapons. The handguns were still in their possession by the fact that it is extremely improbable to kill anyone at with any range with a handgun. Not that Barton was a bad shot.

On the contrary, Barton was not a bad shot. Her father had taken her shooting and hunting many times, so she knew her way around a gun. It was the fact that pulling the trigger with the intention of hurt someone, killing someone, was so despicable to her that even touching the gun was hard.

Barton picked up the gun, and placed it gingerly in her holster. Guilt seeped from its unfamiliar weight, as if Barton had already killed someone.

She picked her way to the large circle of men with Martin at its center. Dike was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey Angel Face!" Luz called slapping her on the shoulder. Barton had grown used to the stupid nickname, just as most everyone in Easy Company had. Luz liked giving nicknames. She wished however that the name 'Angel' had never caught on. It was better than Skinny, though. "You joining us for this little jaunt?"

"Luz, would I spend any more time with you than I had to, unless I was forced?" Barton replied easily. Unlike the other replacements, the soldiers had generally accepted, and befriended Barton. Medics enjoyed special privileges like that.

"She's got a point." Muck nodded.

"Hey, no one fucking asked you." Luz replied, jokingly. Christenson turned to them and the three grew quiet.

"Tactical Columns, let's go." Martin commanded. Barton took her position at the back. Sweat already started dripping into her eyes and her stiches ached. She noticed one of the recruits, a boy barely out of high school, Julian, took a position near the front eagerly. He had been in the same batch of replacements as her. "Let's move, hurry." Martin ordered, cocking his gun.

The group moved out, Martin, Babe, and Julian at the lead, Barton and Peacock at the back. No one spoke as they crept down the rock face to the desert floor. Martin seemed to know where he was going, which made Barton feel slightly reassured.

The tension grew with every second. She waited, nervously, for the gun shot, the cry of pain, the brief light, a bang, and the shattering of a life. And it came all too quickly.

Barton could only hear the ear splitting sound of guns and the shouts of men as they drew back and surged forward in a confusing wave. Martin yelled for covering fire. No medic was called, but Barton sprinted to the front. She stood there stunned at the sight of Julian before Bull violently pulled her to the ground. The brief look Barton had got was enough to ensure nightmares that night.

Julian was gasping, choking on his own blood. The bullet was lodged fatally, in his throat. He pawed at them, silently pleading for them to come save him. Barton swallowed hard. Bullets flew in the space between their little protective outcropping and Julian. He would die alone.

Babe was trying his best to reassure Julian, but the fevered crack to his voice negated his calming words.

She couldn't just sit there and listen to him gasp and wheeze. She had to do something – she had to.

Barton started moving towards Julian, crouched low, ready to sprint out, ready for the bullets to stop flying for just a second. And when they did she would –

"Barton, stay DOWN!" Martin yelled at her. She turned her head slightly. "Fall back!" He ordered. Barton took one last look at Julian.

She had never been that close with the boy. She was almost five years his senior, and despite having gone through basic training with him, the distance created by their ranks as medic and soldier made each only casual acquaintances. But somehow this only made his impending death harder to bear.

Next to her Babe was still shouting reassuring words as he inched slowly back. "LETS GO!" Martin commanded once more, and the pair took off after the patrol.

There was another casualty besides Julian, a man shot in the side. Barton set herself quickly to work, trying to ignore the rattling breaths of Julian that still echoed in her ears.

The wound was superficial: it bleed a lot but wasn't deep, the only possibly troublesome thing was the placement, right about the man's left hip. He was moaning terribly as Barton applied the bandage, hand staunching the blood flow for the moment. "Hold this here!" She instructed, and one of the men complied. She dug through her pack for morphine, the man kept moaning.

Once she found the needle she started tearing off his shirt, throwing the now useless body armor aside and exposing the flesh of his shoulder. Steadily, she sunk the needle into his skin and pressed the plunger. She returned to the bandage, tying it securely as someone called for a litter. In a way she was glad she had something to keep her mind busy with. It kept the thoughts of Julian at bay.

Barton jogged beside the stretcher as it carried the wounded man away. She wanted to ensure she didn't lose two lives today. She kept checking his breathing, making sure it was even, not gasping. It calmed her that he was.

But when the patient was gone, ferried away, nothing could block the traumatic memories from sweeping over her. Julian bleeding out, hand clamped around his neck, fingers stained red.

In a daze Barton walked back to her and Roe's tent. Mechanically she took off her body armor. She should fill out a causality form but her hands were shaking too much. So she sat, lost in gory thought until Roe came in.

* * *

Roe didn't say anything for a moment. "What happened?" And Claire reiterated the gruesome story briefly. Barton could feel the welcomed numbness encase her heart and body. She couldn't move if she wanted to, and she didn't. Barton didn't care if she died in that spot, at least she would never have to see another person die.

"Claire," Roe whispered, but Barton didn't respond. It was as if she heard him through a pane of glass - there but separate from her. "Claire?" He gently touched her shoulder and shook her. His touch felt distant, all she felt was blood seeping through her fingers. "Have you eaten today?" She wasn't hungry. How could she be? "Come on, at least wash your hands." Barton didn't want to move.

Finally Roe got tired and lifted her from her sitting position. Barton blinked as she was lifted into the air and set back down on the ground. Solid ground, with Eugene Roe right in front of her. He was standing upright, he was managing. So could she.

With great effort Barton pushed back the numbness, letting the life back into her body. Her stomach pinched with hunger. She glanced down at her crimson hands, she did need to wash them. "Come on, it'll be alright. I'm here." Eugene was ducking his head slightly so he could look Barton in the eyes.

"Thank you." She looked back at him, surprised to find his eyes were gray just like hers. His face was angular and handsome as well. That thought surprised her more than his eyes.

For the first time in a long time she felt safe, almost happy. No thoughts of blood and guts crossed her mind; it was consumed by Eugene. "You did the same for me." Eugene replied. His soft accent soothed her frayed nerves. Barton smiled slightly, and Roe returned it. He still had his hands on her shoulders.

"Let's go, someone will need something." Barton suggested, distrusting the warm spike in her heart. She had no reason to feel so good.

"You need a meal." Roe said. His hands dropped to his side.

"And you need sleep." Barton countered. He bit his lip. "Winter's wants to talk to you."

Roe nodded. "Will you walk with me?" He offered. It was a ploy to get her up and moving, he didn't want to risk her sinking into that listless staring again.

Barton nodded and got up. "I wanted to see Babe." She put on her fatigues, and slung her medic pack over her shoulder. "He was Julian's tent mate." Barton could only imagine the pain he was going through.

They walked out of the tent together. "What does Winters' want?"

Barton tapped her holster. Roe was shocked to see the gun, for the first time, in the usually empty space. "He wants us to start carrying it."

Roe touched his own empty holster. He didn't like guns, never could he convince himself to actually draw it, let alone click the safety off. The thought of causing destructive pain on another human being was too unimaginable and too irreconcilable.

"Are you?" Roe asked. Barton shook her head.

"It's not even loaded." Barton responded. They stopped talking as they saw the circle of men, sitting under the shade of a tarp. Winters was among them, sharing in the silence. Both felt as if they were intruding on something private. This was a soldier's mourning, medics were expected to accept death and move on. Barton and Roe both joined the fringe of the circle, but stayed removed. They didn't belong here.

The vigil broke when Martin got up and walked away. He of course was taking Julian's death hard, any leader would. Babe sat next to Shifty who had his arm around him. Babe gazed at the ground, hollow and empty.

Barton sat down besides Babe. Roe watched from his own secluded spot. He watched Barton pat Heffron's arm. He said something. Claire rubbed her hand along his bicep. He could see her mouth moving, speaking soft and gentle words. Roe knew from experience that just her presence would calm Heffron down.

"Roe," He heard Winter's voice behind him. "Can you follow me please?"

Barton noticed when Roe left with Winters. She wished he would stay, just knowing he was there made her feel calm. But Heffron needed her and Winters needed Roe.

"What's that sound?" Shifty asked standing up and squaring his helmet onto his head. Barton perked up her ears but could hear nothing. But Shifty was good like that.

"Shifty, you can't fucking hear-" then a soft droning filled the air. An airplane. In the distance shapes formed, and sped towards them. All around her men stood to watch the plane's approach, hopeful yet afraid.

Then every radio exploded into chatter. English chatter. Buck rushed towards one, and began to talk. "Easy Company Base Camp."

"Easy Company, this is Commander Patton. Heard you folk could use some help." Some of the men cheered. Buck grinned.

"On the contrary Commander, we don't _need _any help, but we are damn glad you're here." Barton smiled. Reinforcements, supplies, safety. It was all here. Things were beginning to look up.

Shifty started to laugh, and even Heffron cracked a smile.

And that is when the first bomb dropped.

* * *

**Wow, that was a poor ending. I'm sorry**

**In other news, you might have noticed that this chapter was long (in my standards anyway). So I need some help with that. **

**WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO UPDATE MORE FREQUENTLY WITH SHORTER CHAPTERS OR LESS OFTEN WITH CHAPTERS MORE LIKE THIS LENGTH/LONGER? **

**If you would be so kind as to leave me a review/PM me your opinion it would help a sista out yo. **

**I won't do that again I'm sorry**

**Anyway, thank you so much for reading. I hope this was a good experience for you! Please leave a review if you are so inclined or just continue looking for an update! You really are magic. **

**And if there is any grammar/spelling mistakes or just poor writing. PLEASE POINT IT OUT FOR ME! I only edited this once, so I could publish it quickly. So there is a great chance of me fucking up somewhere. **


	3. Chapter 3

**This is for you .77**

**I hope it's long enough!**

* * *

Chapter 3

Everything seemed muffled after the first shell dropped.

Barton was blasted off her feet, landing a few yards away, disorientated, in pain, and scared. Instinctively she pushed herself to her feet and scanned the ground for injuries: everyone seemed dazed, but no one called for a medic. At least, she couldn't hear a call for a medic; her ears could only detect a ringing sound.

_Where was Roe? _Her eyes tried to focus on individuals faces as men started to scatter. She couldn't see, everyone was moving too quickly. Panic rose in her chest. Her heart raced with adrenaline. Where was Roe? Where was Eugene?

"EUGENE!" She screamed. The sound was quite faint in comparison to the ringing. Someone yanked her arm and she stumbled. Heffron was yelling at her, telling her something. She gazed stupidly at his overly exaggerated mouth.

And suddenly her ear drums popped, her daze broke. All around her people screamed and shouted, bullets flew, and the characteristic sound of a bomb dropping cut through the air. She almost wished for deafness again.

"COME ON ANGEL!" Heffron pulled so hard she was sure he was going to dislocate her arm. They ran for cover, death dogging their steps.

"Where's Doc?" She panted. He didn't hear her. A second bomb exploded to their right. Both threw themselves on the ground as another high screech cut through the air.

Chaos swirled around her. "GO BABE!" She shouted, pushing Babe on. He tried to take her with him but she avoided his grip, slapping his hand. "GO! FUCKING GO!" Then, she pushed herself up and ran back towards the first bomb. Somehow she reasoned that if she could find Eugene, everything would be alright. A child's dream at best, and a sick illusion at worse.

The sounds of guns were intense, the flash of light, brilliant. It was like fireworks but instead of being safely in the sky, they exploded all around her. Ducking against a rock wall she waited, safe as she could hope to be. "EUGENE!" She screamed once again. Where was he? Where the fuck was Eugene? Her heart caught in her throat. She couldn't think the worst, she couldn't. Not yet.

The dust settled marginally. And then she saw him, huddled with a group of soldiers under an overhanging rock. The only thing distinguishing himself from the others was the familiar medic pack.

Barton could breathe again. _Thank God. _She prayed emphatically.

Another bomb dropped and the chaos resumed, disproving her insane theory. Barton curled in on herself, hoping that it will all be over soon, hoping that the next bomb dropped wouldn't be for her. She rested in the knowledge Eugene was safe. As safe as she was in any case, which, admittedly, is a very loose definition of safe.

"STAY DOWN!" Someone yelled in between bombs. It sounded like Lipton.

There was no cry for a medic yet, maybe there wouldn't be one. Maybe everyone had survived. Maybe everyone, for once, lived.

But that would be a miracle, and miracles didn't happen to Easy Company.

When the first round of shells had finished, one of the soldiers in Eugene's group made a mad dash for her cover. "Muck and Penkala got hit." Malarkey yelled, too loudly for their close quarters. She noticed a tiny dribble of blood seeping from his ear.

Barton gazed at him, open mouthed and disbelieving. There were no bodies, which meant they were blasted to pieces. She felt sick. Another bomb exploded, but this wasn't as close to them.

"Fucking blown apart." Malarkey gripped his gun tighter to his chest. "Not a fucking shred left." His voice cracked. Barton couldn't respond. Even if she found her voice, what could she say?

In the back of her mind she noted that there were two new casualty reports she had to fill out.

Malarkey and Barton huddled together waiting out the bombing. The joy of back up was gone in the wake of despair. How could new bandages replace Muck and Penkala? She had literally seen both alive just an hour ago. How could that change so quickly?

Malarkey still muttered to his self, stunned at the deaths of his two friends. If she listened she could probably make out his inane babble, but she really didn't want to hear it. She wanted to retreat into the numbness and stay there, uncaring, unresponsive to the world around her.

But she couldn't. She couldn't leave Eugene alone to face this hell. He helped her. She had to share the load.

Eventually the bombs stopped falling. It took everyone a second to figure out why.

American helicopters and jets soared over head, returning fire to the Arabs. Some men cheered. Some sat there, looking with wonder at the machines.

"Me-MEDIC!" Barton nearly wept at the call. She didn't want to go. She didn't want to see another man, broken beyond imagination, sprawled before her.

But she took off running, over the creator ground. The cry came from across the camp. Hurtling over rocks and huddled bodies, Barton shuddered to think what horror lay in wait for her this time.

It was Joe Toye. His leg was blown off. He was awkwardly rolling on his back, his relatively intact leg crabbing awkwardly, trying to compensate for the bloody stump that was his other leg. "I can't get up." He moaned as blood spurted out in time with his pulse. "I can't get up. I can't get up. I can't get up." Barton was sure that phrase would haunt her until her death.

Buck stood over his friend, just staring. Barton recognized the cold, numb look in his eyes. But he wasn't the issue right then.

Barton dropped to her knees next to Toye. "Hey Joe, hey take it easy." She tried to soothe him.

He could hardly make her out, he was too delirious. "I can't get up." He repeated. Barton started to dig through her pack, finding her tourniquet. _First, tourniquet, then check for shock, then move. _

On the plane to Iran, Barton had spent the hours compiling a list of treatments for all sorts of injuries. It was the only thing that allowed her to keep her head.

"Listen Joe, this is going to hurt. But I promise I'm making you better." She wrapped the rope around his upper thigh, checking to see if his pants had got bunched up anywhere. And then she started twisting. Darker blood squeezed from the stump, and it stopped it's rhythmic fountain of crimson.

Luckily, for Barton not Toye, Joe was too deep into shock to register anything that was happening to him. He didn't scream, he didn't fight as Barton twisted tighter and tighter.

"Compton, I'm going to need you." She murmured. He continued to stare. "COMPTON!" She shouted, and he moved, however robotic that movement maybe. "I need you to hold this." She passed him the tourniquet. "Keep it tight."

Then without checking to make sure he had understood, she moved to Toye's other leg, stabbing it with morphine and propping it up above his heart. Toye finally stopped his crabbing motions. "Okay," She muttered to herself. Tourniquet? _Check. _Shock? _Check. _Time to move him.

She retook the tourniquet from Buck. "Go find a radio that works. I want a jeep up here ASAP." She ordered. He followed them automatically.

Toye was quiet, and while she worked no one disturbed her. Barton guessed everyone was somewhere else, fixing problems that can be fixed.

While she bandaged Toye, she couldn't help but dwell on his life after… this. He would be a cripple, with or without the prosthetic limb. People would stare. He is more likely to get depression. Crutches would become a necessity for the rest of his life, years of therapy and rehabilitation in the nearer future. His life destroyed in a single instant.

Once Buck returned from getting a jeep, accompanied by a man with a stretcher, everything passed in a blur. Barton couldn't recall what she did or what she didn't do. The only specific event she could remember was talking to Roe, briefly. She didn't know what she said, but he let her go quickly. He was unharmed, a thought that would carry Barton through what was to come.

The jeep was open air, and old. Apparently it had been the only one ready to go. Some excuse had been given but Barton couldn't hear, nor cared about. "IV?" She asked to the driver.

"What?" He blurted, his eyes were wide at the sight of Toye. "Oh, um…" Barton would have strangled him if it made him move any faster. "The case in the back." And they were off.

The only signal Barton registered that they had started moving was in the difficulty it took to stick Toye with the IV. She let herself look up, and relax her focus when the fluid began to drip.

"Looks like you guys took a lot." The driver said to Buck. She hadn't noticed he had gotten in the jeep as well. Buck nodded slightly, but that could have been a bump in the road. "Well, were finally being reinforced now," The driver continued. "maybe we can get a-" And he had a bullet through his face.

When he was shot, the soldier yanked the wheel to the left, tipping the jeep. Barton only managed to keep Toye from losing his other leg. Fear spiked, and she looked wildly around. Vehicles were approaching. Her heart thrummed in her chest like hummingbird wings.

Barton froze with indecision and panic. She could run, and be gunned down by the same people who gunned down their driver. She could stay and be subjugated to the people in the cars. She could make sure Toye was alright. The last was the only option for her. Selfish and self-saving actions dissolved when someone else's life was on the line.

In the accident, Toye's IV had come loose. The needle was dislodged and fluid from the bag was spewing onto the dusty road. Barton's vision blurred as she tried to drag herself from the jeep. Her body hurt, but that didn't matter. Toye was her patient. Her responsibility. Her duty.

So she crawled on, inch by agonizing inch as the vehicles drew closer. Out of the corner of her eye, Barton saw Buck rise, he patted himself furiously in search of a weapon, and his hand rested on a knife.

The vehicles got closer, and with it shouts and cheers. Barton didn't care. Toye was her only focus. The IV needed to be replaced. In her addled mind, that single task seemed herculean.

A gun went off. More yelling, this time in a language Barton couldn't understand. Toye's IV. Her priority.

Buck shouted, but then stopped. Barton turned quickly enough to see a bag being thrown over his head, knife thrown on the desert ground. No, Toye was her concern.

Someone grabbed her ankles and Barton screamed. She was drug backwards, nails digging into the dirt, and breaking from her fingers. She flailed but to no avail. A sharp pain erupted from her hair; someone had grabbed it and yanked back her head. Her eyes strained to keep Toye in her sight. Somehow if she just kept eye contact with him that would make everything better.

Then the black bag descended on own head. "NO!" She screeched. Punching, kicking, and thrashing, Barton fought to lose her captor.

Someone yelled as she clawed at the bag around her head. It suffocated her, she needed it off. Toye needed a doctor. He needed her, and she was failing him.

Shouting, and more shouting. She couldn't tell if it was directed at her or not. She couldn't think straight. It was not as if she was panicked consciously. Consciously she was muddled, and confused; subconsciously her body was thrown into overdrive.

Her hands shook, her heart raced, her breathing hitched. She felt as if she could just run forever. Run to Toye, or (an urge growing stronger by the minute) run away. The shouting grew louder until someone grabbed her roughly and shook her. Her body made the choice to fight. Barton swung at her attacker, and connected with something. It felt unlike punching bone. The surprised choking noise confirmed her blow had landed on the jugular. Barton rejoiced with savage pleasure.

Pulling her fist back for another blow, Barton was dropped quickly. Then, after a moment of freedom, her arms were caught in an iron grip. "LET GO OF ME!" She shouted, lashing out. Her fear was becoming conscious now, but anger overrode it.

Her flailing feet hit someone. There was more shouting and suddenly pain. Violent, stabbing, blinding, pain, shooting up from her leg. Barton gasped, and became limp, unable to support herself any more. There was more shouting and Barton was dropped again. She screamed as her leg hit the ground and even more pain lanced through her body.

Besides the pain her leg felt weird. Painful, but limp and unresponsive at the same time. "Shit." She swore, tears springing to her eyes. Someone bound her wrists. The fight had fled in the wake of pain. Her body seemed to give up. Where Buck and Toye were, she had no idea. They could be dead for all she knew. What could she do about it?

She was loaded into the van, every agitation of her body creating a spike of agony. Someone was thrown beside her. "Barton?" The someone asked. Buck. He had finally spoken. "I'm sorry. I tried." He sounded exhausted.

Barton couldn't speak. She didn't have any comforting words to offer. The vehicle began to move carrying them away from their camp, their friends, and their safety.

* * *

Roe was paralyzed after the bombing, too scared to even think of moving. He had seen the bombs vaporize Muck and Penkala. What other horrors awaited the men? Who else would be blasted into tiny pieces?

"Me-MEDIC!" The fateful call. Roe couldn't move. He wouldn't go. He couldn't go.

"Doc." Someone nudged him, he stumbled slightly unaware of those around him. "Doc, someone needs you." But he couldn't go.

Barton dashed across the open bomb site, her hastily thrown up, blonde bun bounced as she moved. She could handle it. He didn't have to. He didn't have to go. And so he didn't.

Roe let the numbness in.

He sat and stared at the crater that used to be Muck and Penkala. How strange it was that a life could be ended just like that. It was amazing and terrible.

Roe couldn't fathom how long he stayed in his numb state. Eventually he moved out of it, and began to walk around. He had his duty after all, and what if Barton needed help. He wanted to talk to her, and just listen to her voice. She give him some courage as if he was the Cowardly Lion, and she was the Wizard of Oz.

Roe started making his rounds.

All of the soldiers seemed shocked and scared, constantly trading off looks with the sky and with Roe as he asked around if everyone was alright, mentally checking to see who was still alive. It worried him he hadn't seen Claire.

"OUT OF THE WAY!" An unfamiliar voice shouted. Two men, supporting a wounded other, jogged steadily through the sea of soldiers. Many turned away, too horrified to look at the stump which used to be a man's leg.

Joe Toye. Roe felt sick as he recognized his twisted, bloody face.

And there was Barton, trotting next to the stretcher, finger on Toye's neck, other securely holding the tied tourniquet. He went to speak with her. "How bad?" Stupid question, he was missing his fucking leg.

"Amputee." She muttered. Her voice was weak, and strangled. She didn't look at him as she spoke. He kept pace besides her.

"Do you want me too…?" He left the question open, offering her a blank check and praying she wouldn't accept it. The Cowardly Lion still hadn't found courage.

Turning briefly to Roe she mouthed. "No." Her eyes were glassy, her face pale. She looked half dead.

"Be careful." He stopped jogging, and watched Toye and his entourage pass. Roe stared at Barton's bobbing bun for as long as she was visible. But then, like everyone else, she was gone.

* * *

The ride was long, hot, and painful. Barton and Buck's kidnappers seem to enjoy violently jerking the wheel and speeding up just to slam on the breaks. Every jostle sent pain crashing up her leg, but she did not show it. She simply let it hurt, it distracted her from the fear of what she was going to face.

She had heard horror stories of what happens to prisoners, especially female prisoners. The thoughts were too nightmarish to fathom. She just focused on the pain.

Soon enough the car had stopped and someone gruffly pulled Barton from her position. She didn't fight, that would be idiotic.

She was dropped unceremoniously on the ground, and then hauled to her feet again by her captors. They drug her along, Barton tried to keep pace but her leg wouldn't work. It just hurt.

"QUICKLY!" Someone finally spoke English, but Barton couldn't obey. Her body just wouldn't respond.

Then more shouting. New voices joined the grudge match, and finally Barton was lifted and thrown over someone's shoulder. The bag on her head slipped slightly, though it didn't help with the raging heat, or the profuse sweating.

Just as she was getting nauseous, Barton was discarded into a rough chair, somewhere along the way someone had zip tied her wrists together. "Who are you?!" Someone asked her, his voice heavy, gruff, and thickly accented. "Tell us your name!" He grabbed Barton's front, shaking her slightly.

"Barton!" She squealed out. She was shaking, aware of how vulnerable she was. Anything could happen. She could be dead in the next second. What would her family think? Would they get a body back? How long would it take for Easy Company to figure out what happened? Would Eugene fill out her casualty form?

"FULL NAME!" The fist curled around her jacket front constricted, lifting her up a few inches. Something brushed the bag over her head, most likely a gun.

"Claire Barton!" She shouted. The phrase which had been drilled into her head all during training sprung from her mouth. "Combat Medic, Corporal! 456-82-9712! November 24th 1986!" Name. Rank. Social Security. Date of Birth. The four things she could repeat for the remainder of her captivity. The last things she could say.

What terrible last words.

"MEDIC!" Someone shouted, and the phrase was repeated several times. Barton recognized the Arabic word for doctor, thrown into the mix. One of the few Arabic words she knew.

Someone shouted violently, a gun cocked. Barton's stomach dropped, cold sweat washed over her brow. What was going on? What was happening?! She wished she could at least _see. _

Strings of English broke the Arabic cacophony. _Woman_, _medic,_ her name. A gun went off and she jumped, waiting for the pain and the violent end. More shouting. Barton choked back a sob.

And suddenly someone shouted over the rest of them. He spoke loudly, and huskily, his voice was strident, and commanding. As soon as he stopped speaking, Barton was grabbed roughly, her jacket ripped off along with her pants. She screamed as her damaged knee was jerked roughly. Her boots were stripped off, as well as her underclothes. The bag was removed as well.

In some pointless dredge of her mind, she was reminded how she stole the boxers from Perconte's pack, with all intentions of returning them. Whoops.

She stood, in her general issue sports bra and underwear, in a dark cement room with ten armed men, faces covered. Her dog tags were torn roughly from her neck. That sudden loss of that small necklace made her feel more naked than the lack of clothes.

Barton knew this was to make her feel weak, to make her feel small and powerless, to intimidate her. It worked. But she couldn't let them think they won. Barton wouldn't allow herself to be beaten down.

She stood up straight, arms dropping from where they had been covering her torso. She leaned heavily on her left leg, while trying to keep her other knee from looking injured. "CLAIRE BARTON!" She shouted, ensuring she sounded strong. "MEDIC! 456-82-9712! NOVEMBER 24th 1986!" She would not be beaten down.

The man in front looked unimpressed. He issued a command to the others who moved towards Barton. She let herself be taken by the arms and dragged away. Her bravado held, and she kept her chin high. She would not be beaten.

"Fucking women." The soldier on her right swore. She could hardly understand him. "Fucking American women." And he struck her across her face. "You learned your place; you would not be here now." He hit her again. Barton raised her face after each blow. The other guard snapped at him.

Barton spat at his feet, and his fist descended again. The other soldier shouted, and Barton's new friend grumbled. She would not be beaten down.

The soldiers introduced her to her new home, a dank, dim, dreary cell. Barton repeated to herself. _She would not be beaten_ down. The door closed, casting Barton into darkness. _She would not be beaten down_. There wasn't even a blanket. _She would not be beaten down. _She could die in here. _She would not be beaten down._

* * *

Barton was gone for quite some time. Roe knew that Toye's injury was serious, but he believed that he would survive, especially with the new supplies and reinforcements that were now available. Barton should have evacuated Toye by now, and she would be on her way home, burdened heavily with supplies.

But she wasn't.

That troubled him. She should have returned by now, or sent someone to fill her place temporarily. It was irresponsible to leave just one medic. Roe began to worry. What if she had gotten snapped up in the wave of new recruits and had been reassigned?

Roe selfishly dreaded that idea, and quickly pushed it away. If she would be reassigned, he would be reassigned with her. She had promised not to leave him, and he believed that.

She was out getting supplies, maybe it was difficult finding a Humvee to take her back. Maybe Toye needed a familiar face to stay with him? Maybe they had been flown out to a CSH and she was on her way back now?

Maybes and What Ifs chased each other around in Roe's head for the next hour. Panic began to build in his chest. She wasn't back yet. Maybe he should go check on her. What if she got hurt? What if she needs him?

The last thought drove him to action. Springing from his seat on the ground Roe scrambled around looking for Winters. He needed to go into town, just to make sure she was alright of course, but first he needed permission.

"Captain!" He said once he had located Winters. He was talking with Colonel Sink.

"Roe, good. Well not good." He avoided Roe's eyes. Roe's blood chilled. "I was talking to Colonel Sink here, and…" Winters gestured to Sink with one hand and rubbed his smooth chin with the other.

"You are aware that a man in your own company, a Joe Toye, got injured." Roe nodded, his mouth dry. "Well, he was found on route to Halabjah, alone." For a second Roe couldn't process it. Why would Barton leave Toye alone, on a dusty, shitty road of all places? "Well the soldiers picked him up and he's stable. He was flown out soon after for further treatment. However…" Why was Roe feeling so sick? "There were signs of an attack. The jeep was overturned. Tire tracks leading away from the sight. Along with the drivers body." Roe couldn't breathe. "We believe that Buck Compton and Claire Barton have been captured in a guerilla attack."

Numbness flooded his body, his heart shut down, his shoulders bent, his eyes glassed. "Now well do our best to get them back, but we can't promise anything." Roe felt himself nodding. It was as if his body had frozen over.

Claire was captured. She was gone. She was gone, and he was lost.

* * *

Barton was starving.

The room had no sense of time. She had no idea how long she had been there. It was maddening. She couldn't even keep the classic tick marks on the walls to organize her time.

She checked her knee in the minimal light and realized soon that it was dislocated. After building up her courage she popped it back into place. She screamed. It hurt. It still hurt and that had been a long while ago. At least so it seemed. The pain made minutes seem like hours.

Soon after setting her knee she realized how hungry she was. And thought of Roe.

Eugene. How was he? She wished she could remember what he said to her. It would be a small kernel of comfort to hear his parting words. She had promised to stay with him. She had lied.

She hoped he would continue on. Treat her death like anyone elses, and simply push his grief to the side, and forget. He would move on, and Barton hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

The door creaked open, and a soldier lead a tiny, covered woman into the room. She was covered in a burqa. "You will wear this." The soldier commanded. The woman held out a lump of fabric to her. Barton narrowed her eyes.

"No." She stated. This is how she would not be beaten down. She would not lose herself to them. She would not give in.

The solider froze for a second then marched forward, grabbing her by the throat and hauling her up. His other hand gripped her thigh painfully. Close up, she could see that this was the same man who hit her. "Fucking American cow!" He squeezed her thigh. Her neck was stretched too much, she felt as if he could rip her head off with one stroke. "I could force you to do anything." His grip was like a vice. "Anything, but I am restrained. That could soon change." His hand scraped its way up her inner thigh. Barton wanted to shiver, wanted to vomit, wanted to fight back, wanted to stop being so fucking helpless. Yet she could do nothing.

He let go. Her thigh and neck throbbed painfully. Her bravado was finished, caught up in one steady stream of fear. She wanted to retreat into the numbness, but it would not come. The one time she truly needed it, it was not there.

The woman stepped forward and helped Barton dress, the Burqa was too big in too many places. It was humiliating. It was unfamiliar. And it was horrid. At least, behind the veil, she could let her face express the fear she felt.

"See, anything I want." The man bragged. And he could. Barton was too weak to stop him. He could do whatever to her.

She was completely and utterly out of control.

When the door shut loudly and the soldier and the woman left her once again, Barton curled herself into a corner. The minimal safety she felt from the concrete walls protecting her back was a vast improvement over the complete ebullition of fear.

She wished Gene was there, to fix her. She needed Gene to fix her. He could. He made her brave, he made her strong. He could fix her. She wished Gene was here.

No, she wished she was with him, but not here. Not in this timeless prison.

She was brought food and drink – a glass of water and some sort of wheat meal. It was tiny, but Barton ate it. In between she was given a short, guarded trip to a filthy toilet. Besides that she slept.

It was extremely monotonous for a high stress situation. She was constantly hungry, fear was her constant companion, and she could hardly sleep. She worried constantly about Buck and Roe and all of Easy and about herself. If they were going to kill her couldn't they have done it already?

One day Buck was brought into her, briefly.

He was broken: face cut and bruised, body slumped, and blue eyes dull. "Alive." Someone stated.

"I can't see her face." Buck breathed. His voice cracked, and dry. Barton stood up on her good leg, using the wall for support. Her vision blurred as she rose too quickly. A soldier on Buck's side strutted forward and ripped the veil off of Barton's head. She hadn't been aware that she was still wearing the humiliating garb.

"Alive!" The man shouted again. Barton wet her lips. She should say something. Anything.

"Buck." She started but couldn't continue. Everything comforting that came to mind was a lie; they will be fine, stay strong it'll be over soon, theyre coming to find us, don't worry. Everything was a lie. "I'm sorry." She whispered. That was something truthful.

And then the door swung shut, sending her into gloom yet again.

* * *

Roe continued. He continued serving Easy company, he continued bandaging the wounded, he continued healing people, he continued collecting supplies like a hoarding squirrel. But he just continued, without thought or feeling.

Barton was gone, most likely going to end up in some horrifying internet video, beheaded for the entire world to see. She was gone, and she left him alone.

It was eerie how quiet everything had gotten. There were no soft breaths from the cot next to Roe as he tried and failed to sleep. There was no sound of gingerly placed boots. There was no whisp of air as the tent flap opened and closed. It was silent.

Roe tried not to dwell on how much happier Barton would be if she had ever seen how much supplies they he now had. The supplies should have brightened his spirits too. But nothing, it seemed, could drag Roe out of the abyss he had plunged into.

Some of the men tried to comfort him, talk to him, even coax a conversation out of him, but he answered in short, monotone, uncontinuable sentences.

It also scared him how dependent he had grown of Claire. He was wrecked without his… friend. How could he be so dependent on just a friend?

The men of course were upset as well. A man hit was mourned, but a man captured warranted grieving. Everyone knew of the brutal torture and graphic deaths the two would most likely suffer, but they all knew how to deal with the grief. Roe had lost his saving grace.

But it was wrong to think that Roe only missed Barton's shared work under the yoke. He missed _her: _how she could make him better with simply a smile, how he felt lighter just by being around her, how her whispered words spoke volumes to him.

But she was gone, gone for days now, so Roe must continue on.

* * *

After a long, immeasurable, time, something remarkable happened.

Barton was fitfully sleep when the door to her cell opened. She sat up weakly, her arm shaking as it supported her torso. Someone walked in, holding a square of cloth. In that moment Barton knew she was going to die. This was it. Someone had decided that it was time for this prisoner shit to end.

_I don't want to die._ Barton thought pathetically. The man was looming, and defeated her useless attempts to ward him off. The cloth was pressed to her struggling head, and finally she was forced to breath in the oddly flowery fumes.

Her mind swam. She thought of her family, how they would have an empty casket to burry, and then… black.

When she woke up, it was dark, but bright at the same time. It was as if she was seeing the world through a black lace film. Everything was pixilated and diluted. But the light was harsh and demanding.

They bounced along in a Humvee. Barton turned and saw Buck. He was still unconscious, dressed in a long white robe, and bound at the wrist. She was too. "Whads happening?" She slurred. There were guards around them, big guns at the ready. They didn't answer.

Barton reclined her head back to its original, uncomfortable position. Why would they drive them to a special place to get killed, better acoustics? Barton screwed her eyes shut, trying to block out the world. Her mouth was dry and nasty from the chemical fumes. Ether.

The ride was short, and not as violent as her first ride with her kidnappers. Buck groaned as the vehicle came to a stop. The little she could see of Bucks face was bruised, greens and yellows festering into browns, blues, and purples. It was horrific and mesmerizing, like a piece of contemporary art.

They were drug out of the vehicle. Barton's bad leg screamed with pain after its long period of disuse, but really it didn't matter. Who cares if she set her knee straight when she was going to die.

She limped along, being forced through the fallow plains. Soon she saw other men, standing at attention, shimmering in the radiating heat. _Her executioners. _She reasoned, but as they got closer, Barton saw familiarities in the company.

The familiar 'at attention' position, the patterns on the fatigues, and most importantly the American flags each of the men wore on their sleeves. Barton felt tears prick her eyes, and her heart soared.

She was being rescued. She was not going to die on some terrorist video. She was being returned. She was going to live.

A subtle sob broke her lips. If she had been properly hydrated she was sure her cheeks would be wet. Her legs trembled, and threatened to give out from underneath her. "Buck." She murmured. His bagged head turned slightly in her direction. "They're Americans. We're being traded." She could depict a man, eyes and mouth bound, under armed guard.

Buck didn't say anything, but his shoulders lifted from their downtrodden slump. His meek walk turned bold as he raised his chin. Barton smiled, and bit her lip to keep it from quivering.

"That's far enough." An American yelled across the space between the two parties. It was Colonel Sink.

"Release him to us." An Arab yelled back.

"Show us their faces." Another American replied. Winters. Barton almost fell to her knees. She was so relieved she paid no attention to the head veil suddenly being ripped from her face. And she could see.

Buck was in worse shape than she thought. The side of his face facing Barton was caked with blood, his bleach blond hair a dirty rust color and bruises spread out from the red. But he was smiling.

Across the way was four American soldiers, and another, obviously the prisoner Roe mentioned earlier.

Roe. Eugene Roe. Barton was going to see Eugene again. She would get to fulfill her promise after all. Her face broke out into a wide grin, as her heart fluttered.

There was a small murmur from the American side of the standoff. Someone reached up and undid the blind fold on the Arab prisoner. "Walk them over." Colonel Sink commanded. "We'll walk him over."

The Arabs around her muttered darkly. One took her by the arm and started slowly moving into the no-mans-land. Barton hobbled along, too happy to care about the pain. She would run a marathon if it brought her closer to Eugene, and her home.

When the two parties had met in the middle Colonel Sink looked between the pair of the soon to be released prisoners. "You are lucky we are trading two for one." The soldier behind Buck growled.

"They are so damaged between the pair of them they can hardly stand." Sink pointed out. "Your man is fresh."

"You send them in. We treated them as our rules say to." The man retaliated. And with the last word he pushed Buck away. Barton stumbled after him. The Arab prisioner was shoved in the direction of his comrades.

Both parties backed away slowly. The atmosphere was even tenser than before. When they were far enough away someone took Barton's arm. It was a man she didn't recognize. His grip was tight and unfamiliar, and suddenly she was back in the cell, being pinned against the wall by the Arab soldier.

She ripped her arm out from his grip. The man frowned. "You're hurt." He said as if she was thick. Barton just stared at him, trying to tell fact from memories.

"I can walk." She stated simply. The man looked a little insulted, but kept his arm out for support if she needed it. Barton refused to touch him. The euphoria was starting to slip loose from her mind, and the trauma was seeping back in. She was not dead, but she was not unscathed either.

A few yards away from the transfer site was a big, desert camo colored Humvee. Squatting against the grill of the car was a man in a position of forced comfort. His back was straight, and his hands held loosely in front of him. He got up as soon as he saw them, took a step in their direction, then paused and waited.

Barton stumbled as she tried to move faster than her bum knee would allow. It didn't matter, Eugene Roe was there and he would fix everything.

Despite his heavy, bulky body armor and helmet covering most of his body, Barton recognized him. She would recognize him no matter what he was wearing. It wasn't just Eugene's face that gave him away, it was his stance, his mere presence that alerted her.

"Bring them fresh uniforms." Winters ordered Roe. He stalled for a second, staring in the party's direction. Barton couldn't tear her eyes away from him. Then he turned and went to the trunk of the Humvee, and was lost from her view. Barton's elation dimmed slightly. "I'm glad to have the two of you back." He murmured to the returned prisoners.

"Glad to be back, Sir." Buck quipped back. Barton was too distracted by Roe to reply.

"Commander, Corporal," Colonel Sink addressed them as well. "First I want you to know, it's damn good to see your faces again."

"Thank you." Buck answered for the pair again. Barton noticed to the slight tremor to his voice now. Was he remembering the trauma too? She wondered idly how hers would pale in comparison to his.

"Secondly, I need to inform you that you will need to be debriefed about your experiences, individually. I must remind you that this information is sensitive, and may NOT be spread around. Do you understand?" Sink's peremptory voice brought on memories of shouting and curses thrown her direction. Barton shrunk slightly.

And the full force of Sink's hit her. She would have to explain all that happened to her. She would have to relive every second of fear. Every second of pain, horror, and abuse for the sake of a report.

She didn't want to even think about her captivity. She couldn't bear it.

The dark fog of despair lifted slightly as Roe reappeared carrying two bundles of uniforms, shrink wrapped and everything. Eugene walked towards their group, and hesitated before veering towards Barton's way. "Are you alright?" He asked softly as he handed her the fresh clothes. His husky, Cajun voice was sweeter than she remembered and she reveled in it.

"Better now." She answered truthfully.

Roe scanned her body, lingering on her bruised face. Then he turned and began holding his finger in front of Buck's eyes making him trail it. Barton hugged her new uniform tightly, giving herself that small comfort.

"Um… may I?" Barton asked Winter's meekly, shrugging the uniform in her arms to bring attention to it. Winters smiles at her and nods.

As soon as Barton was behind the Humvee, and out of sight from the men she ripped off the burqa with all the loathing and anguish she kept pent up. She literally tore the fabric into pieces in her haste. She violently threw the remains of the black fabric on to the ground, gathering a grim pleasure at seeing the symbol of her submission lying in the dirt. Yet, it did not give her strength. The bravery she had carried so boldly her first moments of captivity had faded.

It was as if she was a glass sculpture, covered in concrete. The gloom and isolation of captivity had fractured the concrete, leaving her vulnerable, fragile, and difficult to fix. Looking at her body, at the bruises along her thigh that spoke of her breaking point, at the dark patches splattered across her knee, the scratches and scrapes from her kidnapping.

Barton held the new fatigues at arm's length. She broke the shrink wrap and pulled on stiff uniform, treating the process as a baptism into recovery. The uniform was her first step to becoming her old self again- the broken down, weary, medic of Easy Company.

Emerging from her shelter, Barton found Roe inspecting Buck's bruised face. Just as she was taught to do, Barton put her own troubles aside and resumed her position as a medic.

"Where do you need me?" Roe heard Barton ask. It pained him to hear her confident tone replaced with a meek, timid whisper.

"Resting." He replied. All personal feelings screamed at him to make sure she was alright, make sure she was taken care off and that he was the one taking care of her. He had been alone, and now she has returned. Roe needed to do everything in his power to ensure that she remained.

But his duty dictated otherwise. Buck Compton was in worse shape, therefore he gained priority, and with it Roe's attention.

"Is he decent to travel?" One of the generals asked. He had come in with the reinforcements and had volunteered to come.

"Yes." Roe assessed. Even if Buck wasn't they couldn't stay out in the open like this, it could only lead to disaster.

"Then let's get back to camp." The general said. Roe nodded and held out his arm for Buck to lean on. The Commander ignored the help and walked, unassisted to the jeep.

Roe slid in between the two prisoners as Winters and Sink fell into the front seats. "Doc Roe, I want a full inspection of Compton when we get back to camp. Doctor Barton, I want you for debriefing first." Sink ordered. Roe saw the fear and horror in her eyes, and felt the shiver that rocked her body.

Gently, Roe took Claire's hand in his own. Claire snapped her eyes to meet his. As always the bags under her eyes brought out their gray hue. He squeezed her hand reassuringly letting his calloused thumb rub over her equally rough knuckles. He hoped that this brief contact was enough to lend her his strength. After all her return had restored it.

* * *

**May I just apologize for the ending. It flows with the next chapter and after 7000 words I felt as if the chapter needed to end. It actually could have included the next chapter very easily, yet I am tired, and you (presumably) want an update.**

**This was a long ass chapter, soley because I wanted to show them both apart, and next chapter they will have thier ACTUAL reunion. I mean that's probably why it feels so lame to me. Sorry. **

**Again sorry for typos and shit, I am quite literally running on three hours of sleep, and green tea. It's a miracle I can still walk (but not well because I pulled my groin. Fucking groin.) **

**Let me know what you think and stuff, by reviewing, favoriting, or alerting this story if you like it. I really appreciate it. And if you see any mistakes, let me know please. **

**Have a beautiful day. **


	4. Chapter 4

**HI! Why are you looking at me with such angry faces? OH! it's been forever... awkward...**

**well this is not that good so yeah... that's a thing...**

**here you go... sorry the next would be better I hope...**

* * *

The Humvee was nearly silent on the way back to base. Roe and Barton didn't exchange any more touches, or eye contact: Roe treated Compton (as much as he could in a moving vehicle) and Barton stared out the window, mind somewhere else as she picking absentmindedly at her raw wrists. Roe thought it would be best to let Barton prepare her story for the CO's, he would have time to rejoice in her return after her debriefing.

Barton however, couldn't focus on what she was going to say. Everything that happened since her capture was a long, terrifying blur- impossible to order into a coherent thought, yet just as impossible not to try.

Her mind wandered to her family as well. Had they been told of her capture? How long have they been wondering about her safety, dreading a government car to drive down the street? Had they been told at all? Probably not, why inform someone that their daughter was most likely going to be violently killed?

A sweeping panic rose in her chest. She couldn't breathe. The enclosed space of the Humvee became more and more like her dark cage, until she was sure that these weren't her fellow comrades anymore. She was being driven to her death.

Barton jumped violently as the Humvee jolted over a rock. Eugene glanced over at her, and caught her eye. _See Eugene, _She thought to herself. _He's here, everything's alright._

Everything was not alright, but Eugene Roe helped. Barton breathed deeply, squeezing her hands into fists to quell the tremors. His presence made the memories shrink back, like a candle does to darkness. The terror and fear was still there, just… contained.

As they arrived in camp, Barton noticed immediately how much it had changed: supply boxes stood in stacks, generators lay scattered around with medusa-esque arrays of cords running from them, and fresh uniforms for all.

When the car stopped Barton forced open the door, spilling out gracelessly onto her good knee, despite Eugene's influences she was desperate to escape from the cramped back seat. She sucked in air, as Eugene slid out beside her. "You okay?" He asked. She nodded automatically.

"ANGEL FACE!" Came the first of many welcoming cries. Luz had dropped the box of rations he was carrying and caught her up into a twirling hug. Barton froze, about to fight her way free. _It's just Luz. He's not going to hurt you. _She drilled into her brain. She still shook as he put her down. "Jesus Christ woman, you have a nice vacation?"

Luz knew about the horrors she faced, and probably imagined a few she didn't. But pretending it didn't happen, and making light of the frightening incident was Luz's (and the majority of Easy Company's) way of dealing with their capture, now that they were back.

"Oh it was fucking paradise." Barton squeeked out. She cleared her throat, the pitch sounding high to her own ears. Her heart still raced from his sudden, unexpected, hug.

"'EH! Prodigal kids return!" Bull Randleman spoke in booming tones, a cigar hanging from his lips.

Bull, thank God, went to Buck first, slapping him (much gentler than normal) on the back. "Boys! Look whose come back!"

And it seemed every person in Easy Company came to welcome them home. Amidst the slaps-on-the-back, hugs, twirls, even brief pecks on the cheeks, claustrophobia, panic, and pain, Barton found her spirits lightening some. Her heart still jumped nervously as someone grabbed her too tightly, or surprised her with an emphatic greeting, but she knew that these men wouldn't hurt her. They were her friends.

"Be careful!" Roe scolded as Heffron picked her up in a hug. Barton didn't want to say that every time someone did that her knee rocked with pain. Thankfully Roe was keeping an eye on her, as he always does.

Heffron set her down gently. "What's wrong with you Angel?" He asked, grinning from ear to ear. Barton hesitated. Suddenly the memory of her knee flooded her mind: terror, blinding pain, confusion. She started to panic. Everyone was too close. TOO. CLOSE.

"Just give her some air." Roe instructed. Maybe he could see her breaking apart. He sure knew how to help. "Is it your leg? You're limping."

"I'm fine. It was dislocated, but I reset it." Barton replied. Roe's face grew grim.

"Holy shit, Angel." Heffron gasped as he overheard what she said. "You fucking badass." He almost clapped her on the back, but stopped midswing. Barton shook her head.

"Have you exaimined the area for bruising, swelling-" Barton cut Roe off.

"No." Roe's grim face grew grimmer. But his lecture was put on hold as Martin came to see the two former prisoners.

"Compton! Barton!" He shouted, his serious tone set off by his smile. "You've finally come back from vacation!"

Martin smiled and squeezed both their shoulders. Roe shuffled slightly to the side, leaving them room. Barton kept glancing at his sour face. It wasn't her fault she couldn't check her knee, but somehow she felt guilty for not trying. She felt guilty he wasn't happy any more.

"I'll find you crutches." Roe promised, his voice low compared to the inane, excited babel around her.

Barton nodded. She didn't want crutches, but if it would make Eugene happy she would use them.

"Soldiers!" The general's voice echoed across the camp. The men fell silent. Buck and Garner broke their reunion hug and stood at attention. "We need to debrief Commander Compton, and Dr. Barton before the night is over. After we have our talk and they are taken care of, you can resume this… meeting." The general stood slightly away from the mob. "Doctor, if you'll come with us."

And Barton limped after them. Buck went with Roe, who was trying to clear a path in the men for Buck to walk. Barton couldn't tell if he was going through the same sequences of panic, relaxation, and panic like she was. There was a noticeable distance in his… presence. He was physically unchanged except for the bruises but those would heal. Yet the… feel of him was off. It just wasn't Buck anymore. He had changed.

Barton had too.

* * *

The debriefing took longer than it should have. It should have taken was ten minutes for Barton to retell her tale and be reissued dog tags, but because Barton kept hyperventilating and nearly falling into flashbacks, it took almost half an hour. She did not cry, not once. A fact she was proud of.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." Winters muttered sincerely. The rest of the men nodded in assent.

"Anything else sirs?" Barton asked. She needed Eugene, his calming influence was exactly the kind of drug she needed.

"Go rest." Winters dismissed her with a gentle smile. Barton saluted and left, as fast as her bum leg could carry her.

Buck was standing outside the tent, a new pair of sunglasses hiding his eyes. He stood motionless even as Barton walked past him. She stopped and turned slightly. "Buck?" She murmured.

Although she couldn't see his eyes, Barton guessed that they were blank and vacant, his mind somewhere back in the prison. It took him a second to react to her call.

"Hm?" He jerked his head up. His face grimaced slightly.

"What did Roe tell you?" She asked. "Concussion?"

"Yes, and uh…" He rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Fractured ribs, bruising of some things that I didn't understand…" He trailed off. Barton nodded.

She wanted to say something encouraging. Something that will be inspirational, touching, and great for Buck to carry and gather strength from in times of need; the doctor in her needed to leave him in better condition than she found him.

But nothing she could say could help him.

"You alright Claire?" Buck asked. "I know you dislocated…" Claire shook her head.

"I'm fine." Buck pursed his lips slightly. The lines between towering Buck and the guard were blurring. Barton's heart picked up speed.

"You don't have to lie to me." He offered. His voice was low, and in her panicked state Barton couldn't decide whether it was friendly or malicious.

"Compton?" One of the generals poked their head outside the tent. "We're ready for you." Barton backed away from Buck as fast as she could, now that his concentration on her was broken.

She stumbled away, right into Eugene.

Just being close to him calmed her. She wasn't even embarrassed that she had just ran head first into his chest. All she cared about was that her guarding angel was back, and close by. Neither said anything as Barton stepped backwards, her feet faltering awkwardly as she avoided using bum knee.

"I found you these." Roe offered her a pair of metal crutches.

Barton took them rather reluctantly, thinking of how useless the things will be on the unstable ground of their camp. "Thanks." She replied, trying to mask her disappointment.

"I'm glad your back." Roe murmured softly. He kept a patient hand outstretched for her as she crutched across the uneven ground, back to their tent. "What else hurts? Your face?" Barton shook her head. "Are you hungry? I had food back at the tent ready, and Buck didn't eat much." Barton smiled faintly. "What?"

"It's nice to hear your voice." She murmured. "I mean you didn't speak much before, but after…" She trailed off, her smile fading.

"It's nice to hear yours as well." Roe repeated. A faint blush spilled across his tan, dry cheeks. Her brief smile made him feel giddy. "I didn't notice how loud you were before."

Barton nodded. She was loud. Being in a small, echo-filled, metal box made her hyperaware of every breath, every heartbeat, every sound she made. Her fleeting moment of happiness was replaced with dreaded memories.

Roe noticed how she went quiet, how her eyes glazed over. "Claire?" He breathed, so softly he wondered if she even heard him. "Tell me, yes or no, are you alright?"

She caught his eye, but quickly lowered her head, and continued crutching slowly on. "No," Her breathing hitched, and she took a long shuddering breath. "But I'm better now." Roe's chest hurt with empathetic pain.

"I'll fix your knee, and whatever else is wrong." He swore, it was a solemn promise that he knew he would keep. He needed to keep it.

"I don't know if you can." Barton muttered.

"I will." Roe insisted.

They walked in silence back to the tent. The air between them was charged. Roe just wanted to sooth her, hug her, hold an ice pack to her bruises, anything that would maybe make her better, but he sensed that she would simply shy further away.

He held the tent flap open for her, and she crutched in, looking around in wonder at the plethora of supplies scattered around the, already, tiny space. Roe hadn't bothered organizing anything while Claire was gone. "I didn't spend a lot of time in here." Roe explained. "Only to sleep, but I eventually started bunking with Heffron." He didn't add that the reason for this was because it was too painful for him to stay in a room that held so many memories of her.

She stood, looking around at the magnificent array of supplies. Roe started moving boxes off their cots. "Here, sit down." He ordered once he cleared a space for her. "Do you have any other major injuries? Besides your leg I mean."

Claire shrugged. "I got banged up in the car wreck, and got tossed around some, but everything is just bruises."

"How are your stiches?" Eugene asked as he started clearing off the rest of the cot. Claire stared at him in confusion for a second before her face cleared.

"I… don't know… I forgot about them." She sat down on the cot and absentmindedly felt her back, wincing as her fingers brushed something sensitive. "Ow." She murmured.

Roe set what he was carrying down and immediately jumped to her side. "Let me take a look." He reached for her jacket collar, trying to help her take it off, when she jumped away violently. She slapped his hand away and almost fell backwards off the cot in her explosive retreat.

Roe stepped back quickly. Claire's eyes were wide, her chest heaving, her body shaking. "It's alright." Roe blurted out still backing away. "It's alright. It's me, Eugene." He pressed himself against a teetering stack of boxes, the farthest point he could be from Claire.

Claire held her shaking hands in front of her. "Sorry," She whispered. Her eyes brimmed with tears but none fell. "I'm sorry." She sounded so weak, so fragile, so defenseless.

"I'm just going to help you, Claire." Roe swore, keeping pressed as far from her as he could. "I'm going to fix you."

She lowered her hands, clenching them together. "I'm so sorry." Roe took this as a sign he could approach. He stepped forward. When she didn't react he took another, and another, carefully watching her for signs of fear. When he was right in front of her he knelt.

Roe offered his hand. Claire took it, her grip firm

"Sh." He hushed her. "It's alright. I'm here, I'll fix you." Roe's thumbs rubbed gently across the back of her hands. "You're going to have to take off your jacket, and I'm going to have to lift your shirt up. I swear on my life, I will not hurt you." Barton nodded, her lip quavering. Her pupils were dilated with fear.

"I trust you. I'm sorry, I don't know why I did that." Roe squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"It's alright." He replaced her slightly trembling hands in her lap. "Is this alright?" He asked reaching up and pulling slightly on her jacket. Barton nodded. She just kept looking into his eyes as her jacket came off. When he moved around to the back of her, to lift her shirt she shuddered slightly but kept calm.

Her back was bruised, but not too bad. No ribs stuck out, and no broken skin. The stiches however looked infected. Roe was careful to keep his fingers from grazing her naked skin. He kept all contact to a minimal.

"I need you to eat something; you're going to have to start taking an antibacterial." He passed her the rations that he had scrounge up for buck. Barton lifted the fork to her mouth gingerly. He pulled her shirt back down as she ate.

"Now your leg." She tensed. "I can always just roll up-" Barton cut him off, setting her plate down. She undid her belt and slid her pants off, carefully guiding her leg through the fabric. She did so seemingly confidently, but her hands shook.

In the light, the knee looked bad. Every shade a bruise could be coated the skin around her patella. Roe bit his tongue. It looked bad.

Less obvious was the smattering of bruises on her upper thigh. Roe frowned at those, Barton noticed. "He grabbed me, I couldn't defend myself." Roe's heart sank, bile rose in his throat, and an unfamiliar blood thirst sang through his body. He wanted to hurt the man who did this, he wanted to kill him. "He didn't do anything but that." Barton's face was emotionless, except for her eyes which spoke of untold horror. "I was so scared. I was so scared." A single tear escaped from her eye. "He could have done anything to me." Her tremor turned into a violent shake. "Anything."

Roe grabbed a blanket, and covered her lap with it. "I can't escape it Roe, I'm just so scared. Everything reminds me of it." Her voice warbled. "I don't want to go back Eugene."

"You won't." Roe promised. He wound an ACE bandage around her knee, he didn't meet her eyes. Honestly he didn't want to see her in any more pain.

As soon as he was done, Barton pulled her pants back on and fell sideways on her cot, uninjured knee pulled to her chest. "You're going to have to sit up to eat, Claire." Roe murmured, gently lifting her back into a sitting position. Claire shook her head like a child, but allowed herself to be pulled up.

She leaned against Roe, head resting on his shoulder. "I don't mean to cry. I'm sorry." Claire sniffed. Roe slowly reached around her waist, pulling her closer. "I'm so sorry about everything." And then she broke down, wrapping his arms around his neck. He pulled her onto his lap.

She cried into his shoulder, shaking in his arms. Roe didn't know what to do besides hold her.

"It's going to be alright." Roe whispered. "Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but I will fix you." Claire was light on his lap. It frightened him to see her so distraught: this was not Barton, the steadfast, brave combat medic. This was Claire, the scared and traumatized victim of war.

"Thank you," She sniffed. "You always fix me. You make everything better." Her face was still pressed against his shoulder.

Roe rubbed her arm gently. "You fixed me too, I was lost…" He spoke without thinking. "When you were… gone, I couldn't function." Claire lifted her face to look him in the face. Her eyes were red, cheeks irritated, but she had stopped crying.

"I had hoped you would move on, and just treat me like another casualty. I hoped you would just let me go." Claire sniffed slightly. Roe narrowed his eyebrows.

"I don't think I could ever do that." Roe admitted. Claire replaced her head on his shoulder.

"Neither could I." She whispered. And they were silent. Roe rubbed her arm and Claire's breathing became deeper and deeper until she fell asleep.

Carefully he laid her down on the cot and undid her boots, pulling them carefully off her feet. He bandaged her chaffed wrists, taking his time cleaning the wounds as painlessly as he could.

She looked so calm when she was asleep. Her tense face was relaxed, the bags under her eyes less noticeable. She curled in on herself, her bum knee straight while the other was tucked into her chest. Roe sat down next to cot and took her hand in his hand. "I'm going to take care of you." Roe promised.

* * *

Roe stayed sitting next to Claire's cot for a very long time. Long enough to plan out exactly, in great detail, what her treatment should be for both physical and mental trauma.

The physical trauma is easier: crutches for a minimum three weeks, possible rehabilitation in a Combat Service Hospital ,CHS, and anti-inflamitory drugs for her knee, while on a strict regime for the infection in her back. Simple.

The mental trauma was going to take some time. Time, care, and patience. He didn't mind taking care of Claire; he would have held her all night as she cried if she needed him to. But Barton wasn't someone to broadcast her suffering, she would consider herself healed, whether she was correct or not, and dive right back into action until something triggered a memory of her capture and she crashed.

And Roe would be ready when she did.

After this careful plan was thought up, Roe began to think about Buck. He was in much more physical pain than Claire, but whether he was suffering the same mental trauma, Roe didn't know. Roe didn't ask Buck about what he went through, nor did he want to know. Roe didn't want to hear about the ways Buck was tortured.

It did worry him when Buck never came back from his debriefing. Hours passed and he still did not show up. Roe had ordered him back for a more thorough concussion test, and yet…

He should go look for him, but he didn't want to leave Claire alone. He made a promise to stick with her, and he was not going to refute that promise, Buck is a big boy he could handle himself.

Guilt nagged at the back of his brain. Claire was a grown woman who could handle herself as well. He knew that, but he still didn't want to leave her.

After hours of sitting and waiting, Roe's vigil was broken. Winters pulled back the flap to their tent and quietly stepped inside. "Sir." Roe said, pushing himself up on his feet. Winter waved him back down, but the damage had already been done.

Claire's eyes cracked slightly. "Eugene?" She mumbled and he turned immediately to her. He briefly reached for her hand, but, remembering Winters behind him, snapped it back.

"Sh, it's alright. Just go back to sleep." He whispered. But she didn't. She sat up, stood clumsily and saluted. Winters waved her back down, and she sat ramrod straight in the cot, jacket drawn protectively around her.

"How are you feeling?" Winters asked Barton, his authoritative voice colored with concern.

Barton responded "Better," She glanced at Eugene, standing next to her cot.

"That's good to hear." Winters smiled faintly. "I wanted to see if you're comfortable." Winters cleared his throat, looking between her and Roe. "There are several women serving in the reinforcement force and we can easily arrange for you to-" Barton shook her head.

"I'm comfortable here." She replied. "Unless you demand it, I would prefer to stay with Roe." Roe's face showed no outward emotion, but inwardly he was elated. Why? Because she chose him over strangers? He needed a grip on reality.

"Very well," Winters nodded. "I also wanted to tell you that Sargent Compton will now be staying with Sargent Garner. As a member of Easy Company he will be under your care, Roe."

Barton shifted as she asked her question. "When can I return to service, officially I mean, Sir." Winters ground his teeth together. It was as if he was working the answer over before he decided to deliver it.

"Whenever Roe deems fit. Until then you are to do what he says, you are relieved from all duties until you are healed." Winters looked stern.

"Yes Sir." She said without a trace of emotion in her voice. Roe knew she was disappointed.

"And one last piece of news." Winters paused a seconded for a breath, to Roe it felt like a lifetime. "We are moving next Thursday to a remote, but heavily protected base."

Both medics stared in shock at Winters. The desert camp Easy had made their home for the past several weeks was beginning to seem inescapable, and now here was a glimmer of hope.

"Thats… really good news." Barton fumbled over her words. Roe didn't say anything.

"Yes, it is." Winters smiled. He was just as happy to be out of there as they were. "Afternoon." He nodded his head as he turned and left.

Claire giggled, slightly. When Roe turned to look at her, he couldn't help but smile at the joy on her face. "We're getting out of here Eugene!" She laughed again. He smiled.

"Yeah, we are."

* * *

**I'm so sorry that you had to read that. I edited it mostly when I was not awake... I promise that the title of this file was "YOU NEED TO EDIT THIS" for forever. **

**BUT I WENT TO DISNEYWORLD! I know right! We watched the fireworks and all I could think of was Lipton and how he thought the bombing was like fireworks... well I'm a joyful person... whoop. **

**BUT DISNEYWORLD WAS AMAZING! **

**AND I BURNED MY HAND!**

**AND I RAN 12 MILES (MY PERSONAL RECORD!) FASTER THAN MY PROJECTED RACE PACE FOR 10 MILES! (this is interesting only to me)**

**Yes, in other news. I will get the next chapter out... in a better quality than this one is. NEXT EASY IS MOVING! To... not haguenau! SOME IRAQI CITY THAT I HAVE YET TO DECIDE ON! I hoped yall liked my take on Bastogne, and I hope you stick around to see my take on haguenau. **

**As always thanks for reading! And as always I post with love and sleep deprivation. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi! sorry for the long wait. I would like to thank all you new readers for being so patient with me! Just a warning: schools gonna start up soon so if you thought waiting for these updates were long... well... sorry...**

**ANYWAY ONTO CHAPTER 5**

* * *

Chapter 5

A week after Barton's return to camp in Halabjah, the company was moved to Abu Sukhayr. Well, not exactly Abu Sukhayr- the army base on the outlying space around the city, positioned on the edge of a river, and all too close to a secret enemy hotspot.

Where Halabjah had been desert, Abu Sukhayr was fertile. Where Halabjah had been dry, Abu Sukhayr was rainy.

The rain was a welcome relief from the scorching heat, but it caused its own problems.

Every time Easy company had seen rain, it was little more than a light drizzle, turning the air into a hot, humid, thick mess. It only succeeded in making the soldiers more hot and irritable than before.

This rain was heavy, pounding, and frequent. The roads were paternally wet, mud slicks, gumming up any heavy machinery and making the drive from the air field in An Najaf ten times longer than it should have been.

The delay didn't bother the soldiers though. Most stripped off dirty shirts and jackets and ran through the mud like school boys. Some just stood in the downpour, letting the water wash away the grime and trauma of Halabjah.

Roe was leaning against an inactive tank, watching the men play. Bull was lamenting the absence of a football. Leibgott and Perconte were trying to nurse a single cigarette between the two of them. Popeye was standing in the mud barefoot while Luz and Babe were stuffing his boots mud.

"It's nice to see them all smiling for once." Barton said, limping up to Roe. She was healing nicely. Her knee was getting better after a few days of bed rest and crutches. She had a new brace on from An Najaf, and so Roe let her have a little freedom. Her infection was healing nicely; he could start weaning her off the antibiotics.

But every night she went incredibly still, and after a few minutes, woke up gasping, clawing her way out of the blanket. Roe would sit up next to her, holding her hand and just waiting till she fell back asleep. During the day she functioned as well as she could. Barton started shifting back into her medic role, but every so often she would clench her fist together and seal her eyes shut as she battled some new phantom.

"I just wish we could get under cover." Roe said, glancing up at the sky, then around at the open land around them. An attack could literally come from anywhere. His muscles tensed at the very thought, and he fought the impulse to dart for cover at every loud whoop of laughter.

"That's what Nixon said." Barton replied just as grimly. He could feel her watching him out of the corner of her eye, but whenever he tried to catch her in the act she looked away.

"How's Lipton doing?" As part of her rehabilitation she was looking out for the newly promoted, and sick, CO. At first Roe had thought it was a bad stomach bug, but had developed into a severe case of food poisoning. Lipton could hardly keep any food down and had started coughing, and vomiting blood. There was little Barton and Roe could do without the proper medicine. Another reason this delay made Roe jumpy.

"I wish I could put him on an IV drip until the sores in his esophagus heal." Barton sighed. "I can't even put him on a liquid diet until we get to that base." She glanced up at the sky. Raindrops made her hair stick to her neck and face, covering the green-yellow remainder of her bruises.

"It's hard." Roe sighed. He took off his helmet, letting the rain wash his own hair across his face. He felt naked without his helmet, but suppressed the urge to jam it back on his head. He could feel Claire's eyes on him again.

"I'm most excited about the food." Barton said. Roe frowned, giving her a strange look. Thoughts of ambushes were pushed from his mind by this surprising turn of conversation. Barton hastened to explain. "Army bases, especially army bases with CSHs, have cafeterias. We should be located close enough to reap the benefits of three square meals a day. It's not healthy food, but fuck we deserve it."

Roe resettled himself against the tank. "I wonder if they have chocolate."

"Mmm…" Barton hummed and smiled contentedly as if imagining the treat already. Roe couldn't help but smile in response. It was so rare for her to smile, or just be happy, and that she was simply happy, made him happy.

All his efforts in the past week have been spent trying to make her happy. He had scraped together a little extra rations to bring to her while she rested, every night he stayed awake until she fell asleep and even then, awoke at her slightest discomfort. He watched her carefully, chatted with her, and made sure she was comfortable. He tried to shield her from anything that would trigger her horrible flash backs.

"I miss real food in general." Roe added. Claire turned her head to listen. The faint special smile that crossed her face whenever he spoke returned. He had yet to question her about it. "I would kill for some real fruit and vegetables."

"Or just a home cooked meal." Claire sighed. "My mother makes the best chicken casserole. Grew all her own veggies and farm fresh cheese…" She trailed off, lost in thought. "It's heavenly."

Roe suddenly felt a pang of longing for home. "My grandma made traditional red beans and rice." His mouth watered at the long distant memory. "Slow cooked all day. Made the house smell so good, it was unbearable to wait until dinner." She laughed; his heart sprung at the sound. "What's so funny?"

"That was just so Cajun. Red beans and rice." She bit her lip slightly, awaiting his response. Roe smiled.

"I guess it was." Roe admitted. They stood together then, enjoying each other's company and the rain in silence. A strange magic hung in the air; warmth spread through each of them. Their normally grim outlook on life was suddenly bright and optimistic.

Someone called through storm for the men to load up in the trucks again. Roe and Barton went off to their respective spots and duties. As Barton turned to leave she gave him a smile and a wave. His throat choked, his mind went blank. "Stay dry." He replied, which made no sense since both were soaking.

For the rest of the ride to Abu Sukhayr Roe fretted over those parting words.

* * *

_A week ago _

Buck didn't make it to Abu Sukhayr. He was too broken to carry on after Garner.

Barton was complaining about having to be bed ridden while Roe could freely move about their small tent. He was taking count of new supplies, getting ready for it all to be boxed up and shipped off to God knows where.

Only after Barton had returned did he really appreciate the supplies that the reinforcements brought. And now, that he was boxing it all but the immediately necessary up, it made him a little sad.

Barton was sitting up, a clip board resting on her legs taking down numbers for him. She was leaning against a crate of boxes with an ice pack on her knee. At Roe's last snarky comment she smiled, and tried to muffle her giggle. It was the first time she'd laughed since returning.

An explosion rocked through the camp, toppling Barton's pile of boxes. Roe jumped towards her instinctively, to do what he did not know. A cold tense second passed as they stood side by side, both of them not breathing. The silence that followed was agonizing.

Seconds passed, shouts rose to a crescendo outside, but not the faithful call that both the medics waited for. Seconds passed, Roe let his guard drop gradually. Maybe they were lucky.

"MEDIC!" Someone screamed above the cacophony of noise. Barton and Roe made eye contact. He could see the desperation to help, and the resolve to do so, building in her face.

"If you move I will have you shipped off to CSH. I don't care what you say, or do. That is a promise." Barton grit her teeth and glared, beyond words. Roe sprung away, kicking her crutches away for good measure.

Garner had gotten his leg blown off, just like Toye had. Roe was happy Barton didn't have to see this.

Buck stood over Garner, his best friend beside Toye, and watched as Roe worked. His eyes were glassy and unblinking, even when Malarkey tried to pull him away. Eventually both were taken to Halabjah, and Roe heard later that they were both shipped off to Qatar for further treatment.

When Roe returned to the tent Barton was lying, curled into a ball, her back to him. He could tell by the way her shoulders shook that she was crying. "Claire?" He asked. She didn't turn. He took a step forward, barley brushing her trembling shoulder with his fingertips.

She whipped around, punching him in the chin. He recoiled in shock, covering the point of impact with his bloody hand. "Bastard!" She swore, her voice squeaking. Her eyes were red and her face a patch work of blotches. "How!" She sobbed. "dare!" She choked. "How could… I could have…" and she bent her head, realizing how little either of them could have done. Roe took this as a sign to approach her again.

"I'm sorry." He apologized. "I'm so sorry." He knelt in front of her. "Please forgive me."

She ignored him. "Who got hit?" She sniffed and whipped her eyes.

"Garner." Roe didn't even meet her eye, he kept his gaze firmly secured on the ground. "He and Buck were taken to Halabjah."

"Buck?" Barton's tone was steadier now.

"He saw it all. It was the final straw." Barton sighed. Roe kept his gaze on the ground.

She gently tilted his face up, bringing light to the newly forming bruise. She took the ice pack she had on her knee and brought it to his face. Roe glanced to her blotchy face. She wasn't crying any more. "I forgive you. I'm sorry I hit you."

* * *

"Second Platoon, building F. Third Platoon, building I." Speirs read out, pointing out each building in turn to the group of men.

Barton was happy Speirs was now in charge of Easy Company. And she couldn't be happier that Dike was finally gone.

Though a man's death is nothing to be celebrated, Spiers' promotion is. Easy will now eventually have great leader, someone who knew the men, and someone the men respected… and feared.

Speirs, while being a fantastic leader and an incredible soldier, was terrifying. Since Barton was at Lipton's side most of the time, she had had a lot of contact with Easy's new captain. When he talked, he stared straight into your eyes as if he was trying to intimidate you, or simply impress that he was stronger and more powerful that you. Which of course he was.

Barton tried to return the intense stare one time, but could barely hold his eyes for more than a few words.

"Roe, you will stay in the medic's quarters." The men began shifting, eager to go check out their new homes. "Dismissed."

"He didn't say my name." Barton frowned. Leibgott, standing next to her, elbowed her gently.

"Eh, you can always stay with me Angel." He smiled and chucked lowly. She rolled his eyes at him. "Jesus, there are tons of ladies who would kill for that offer. Don't sound too thrilled."

"And how many of those ladies have… oh I don't know… self respect?" She ribbed him back, and limped away up to Speirs before he had a chance to respond.

"Fucking ice, that woman." He spoke loud enough for Barton to hear.

Speirs was looking over his clipboard as Barton approached through the milling crowd. "Captain." She called. Speirs looked up. And again Barton felt tiny under his gaze. "You didn't call my name, sir."

"Because you aren't on my list." Speirs replied. Barton flicked her gaze up to his face, then away again. "Which means you haven't been assigned yet. I would check with Winters." Barton frowned.

"Is this really something to bother Major Winters with, Sir?" Barton questioned. "Won't I just be assigned to the medic quarters like Roe?"

Speirs folded his clip board under his arm. "Maybe not." It sounded like Speirs knew something she didn't. "Come on, Winter's will be back at CP."

Barton limped along behind Speirs for the entire walk. The ground was paved but uneven, the shoddy foundation had cracked leaving massive rips in the street. There were frequent signs of bombs too, which only added to the natural devastation.

Locals, along with military personal bustled around them, always side stepping to make way for Speirs. Barton trailed behind in his wake.

"Lipton, will you sit down for once? God damn it!" Speirs swore as they entered the ramshackle building which was designated as CP. Barton picked up her pace to check on her patient.

The room was dusty, the windows boarded up, letting rays of sunshine slip through. Three fans sat in the corner, stirring up the dust and hot air, along with a smattering of old armchairs. The only new addition to the room was the three fold out tables that acted as the CP's work desks.

"I have work to do." Lipton argued, his voice was raspy. Barton reached up to feel his forehead. The new CO was clammy and burning to the touch.

"Your fever's worse." She bit out. "You need to rest." Lipton nodded and waved her off as he shuffled over to a chair and sank into it. "Now until I say so you don't have work to do. The only work you have is to find someone to do that work for you, understand?"

"Got it, Angel." Lipton still waved her off. He didn't like to be fussed over. He would rather do the fussing. Barton sighed and took a step back from her patient.

"Is Winters around?" She asked. Lipton didn't have the chance to answer. A tall proud woman dressed in a perfectly pressed uniform, with her clean brunette hair pulled back in a perfectly tight bun, walked in. Her clothes cut curves into her strong, square body that wouldn't otherwise be there.

Her cleanliness was so out of place in the shoddy, dust covered house, that even Speirs was a little shocked.

She stalked up to Speirs, stamping her feet to Attention, gun snapped audibly against her hand. She saluted him extremely formally and spoke even more so. "Sir, I am First Lieutenant Harriet Jones. I am looking for Captain Winters."

Speirs stared her down. She avoided his direct gaze. "He'll be here eventually." Speirs shrugged, dismissing her with a casual wave of his hand, and took over whatever Lipton was doing before.

Lipton and Barton looked the woman up and down. She was still standing ramrod straight despite having 'relaxed' from the position of attention.

Unnoticed, as the woman drew the attention of the whole room, a man cleared his throat. "Sergeant Lipton." The man stepped away from his position against the wall. His uniform was new, but not pressed and neat like Lieutenant Harriet Jones'. "I heard you got promoted to a battlefield commission." The man's casualness made the woman's rigidness even more unorthodox.

Lipton nodded, opened his mouth to speak, and coughed raucously. His frame shook, and Barton instinctively reached for the half full bucket at Lipton's side. "Jesus Lipton take a break! Go and sleep, there's beds in the back with clean fucking sheets!" Speirs commanded. He turned from the Lieutenant to the Private. "Now who are you?"

The Private shrugged his gun strap higher on his shoulder. "I am Private David Webster, I just got out of the hospital. Sargent Martin told me to report to second platoon, but-" Webster was cut off by Speirs.

"Fine. Second." He dismissed the private. Webster started asking Speirs questions about the company. By the nature of those questions it seems that Webster had been gone a very long time.

While Webster questioned Speirs, Barton tried to figure Jones out. She wondered if someone at regiment had decided that Easy Company needed a new commander already. Or was she simply a superior, here to deliver news to Winters.

When Winters arrived everyone in the room, besides Lipton (although he did try) stood up. Barton couldn't imagine that Jones could grow any more ridged than she already was yet somehow managed it.

"Captain Winters," She moved forward, saluting him and Captain Nixon behind him with textbook posture. "I am First Lieutenant Harriet Jones." Winters was startled at the rush of formality. Nixon laughed it off.

"Oh, our West Pointer." He nodded to her. "You're a new graduate aren't you?" Just as she had done with Speirs, Jones relaxed into attention.

"Yes, Sir."

Nixon looked her up and down. "Try not to get blown up." He said, the smile on his face turning dark. The joke left a bad taste in Barton's mouth, but she said nothing.

Winters ignored his friend's black humor, nodding a welcome to the Lieutenant. "Speirs I need to talk to you."

Jones's controlled face turned a little sour as Winters and Nixon blew by her. Barton thought of how this woman, so proud and perfect, would soon be broken down and tarnished like the rest of them.

Her thoughts were interrupted as she Winters spoke to Jones, asking her to deliver the news of a prisoner snatch to Malarkey, and the men who will need to be prepared for the patrol later in the week.

Barton grit her teeth, livid beyond words. The men of Easy company finally had shelter, relative safety, and food. Why for fuck's sake were they being sent out on a frivolous prisoner snatch? Did they want to lose more men? Did they like seeing their soldiers hurt, or worse?

She knew it was not Winters's fault, but she wanted to rip into him just for carrying the bad news. Her knuckles turned white as she clenched Lipton's chair.

"Webster, nice to see you again." Winters acknowledged the returning private. "Has Speirs given you a platoon yet?"

"Yes sir, Second." Webster saluted the Captain. Barton still waited to be acknowledged.

"Good, and Barton did you need something?" Finally Winters turned to her. She quelled her rage, and tried to recall why she was there in the first place.

"I was just confirming that I would be staying in the medic's quarters." Barton replied. "Captain Speirs didn't know." She was proud at how level her tone was.

Winters shook his head. "You're not technically released to return to your medic duties yet." Barton couldn't keep the annoyed edge out of her voice.

"Then who am I staying with until Roe releases me?" She quipped, already formulating plans to make Roe release her as soon as possible. He would need her for this bull shit patrol.

"You will be staying in Building P. That is where the women are being housed." And as if Winters could read her mind, he added. "And, whether Roe releases you or not, you will stay there. Halabjah was a special circumstance. Until we are transferred, you will be quartered in Building P. As will you Lieutenant Jones." Lieutenant Jones answered Winters with a 'sir!' while Barton gripped the chair tighter.

"Is that all?" Winters asked.

"Yes sir." She replied. "Thank you, Sir." She saluted and hobbled out. She wished that she could walk out with more dignity.

It infuriated her that she would be separated from her men. Especially with the dumbass patrol that was going to happen later that week. What if Roe couldn't handle it by himself? What if she was too far away to hear the cry for a medic?

The thought made her sick.

The building wasn't hard to find. It was smaller than most of the other houses, which made sense. When Barton walked in a little woman dressed in a hijab welcomed her in a heavily accented voice. "You are Jones?" Barton shook her head.

"No Ma'am, Claire Barton." She tried her best to keep from focusing on the little woman's voice too much- she already jumped slightly upon hearing the distinct accent.

"Welcome Cop…" She started to say Corporal but stopped as she mispronounced it. Barton waved the mistake off.

"Just call me Barton." She said.

"Thank you Miss Barton." The little woman said. "I am Kareema. I will show you around."

As Kareema showed her the bathrooms and rooms, explaining when they were allotted meal times and shower times, all Barton could think of is how vastly different this was from a cramped men's barrack.

"What was this place?" Barton asked as they finished walking around the unusually large kitchen.

"An inn." Kareema answered. "Owned by the wealthiest man in Abu Sukhayr. I worked as a maid here until the Americans came. He left, but I stayed." She looked around the broken down house with pride.

"Why didn't the officers get it?" Barton asked. Private bathrooms and a personal kitchen were better than what most bases offered.

"They stay in the wealthiest man's private house." Kareema explained. "I will show you to your room."

Her room was small. A side bathroom with a toilet, shower, and sink all crammed into a room the size of a hall closet and had a thick coating of dirt with accents of mold over everything. The bed was a rickety wire frame supporting a single mattress with yellow, holey sheets and a pillow.

It seemed like the Ritz to Barton.

"Thank you Ma'am." Barton said. "It's magnificent." The woman looked puzzled at her choice of words but smiled all the same.

"I am happy." She stated. "I will leave you now. If you need anything, please ask." Kareema bowed her head and closed the door on her way out. A _door. _

Barton fell into the bed. She was still angry, but decided to put it aside until she had taken a nap.

She didn't even bother taking off her boots before she sank into oblivion.

* * *

_Four days ago_

With the arrival of General Patton's reinforcements, a camera crew had come too. They took one day off from the reinforcements to talk to Easy.

None of the men really talked about their experience in Halabjah, or if they did it was so sugar coated that just watching it would cause diabetes. No one mentioned how their friends were blown apart, how every man suffered from a thirst no amount of water could quench, how the sun beat down upon them like they were ants underneath some giant kid's magnifying glass, and how Barton and Buck were captured.

The camera crew of course asked about casualties and how different injuries happened, but either the soldier would clam up, or change the subject with some sarcastic comment.

The crew had a field day with Barton. They asked for her as a personal guide around the men and, since she "couldn't do anything useful" (her words), she obliged. They questioned her about her knee, about her experiences.

When she was showing them the medic tent all of the crew was surprised at how she shared the tent with Eugene Roe.

A woman among the crew was the first to bring up the inevitable question. "Are you romantically interested in any of the soldiers?" Barton was a shocked.

"No, of course not!" She made a face.

"Do you have a boyfriend back home?" The woman hesitated. "Or a girlfriend?" Barton sighed. When she had been going through basic training the lesbian question had come up frequently.

"No." The crew seemed to take her sigh as one of longing rather than exasperation.

"But you are surrounded by men, some very attractive candidates too?" The woman then leaned in and whispered, as if the camera couldn't pick up everything they said. "What about the doctor you share a tent with?"

Barton became very uncomfortable. They were still close to the medic tent, and Eugene was literally only a few steps away, obviously hearing everything. She would like to have laughed the question off as ridiculous, but something stopped her. She flicked her eyes to Eugene who, bless his heart, was staring intently at a list of different drugs which needed to be accounted for. He was too polite to blatantly eavesdrop.

"I don't think of these soldiers as pieces of meat. Yes, I notice that these are extremely fit, young, handsome, men. But I see them as friends, and comrades before anything else." The woman seemed disappointed. "I am not here to check out guys, and I find it extremely insulting that you think I am."

"I'm sorry you took it that way." The woman stated, her tone void of any sincerity. "But have you received any unwanted attention, harassment, anything of the sort?" Barton noticed that Eugene wasn't pretending to read lists anymore. He awaited her answer the same as the crew.

"No." Barton stated firmly. "I trust these people with my life. And they trust me. We are comrades in arms. I am not a woman in their eyes, and they are not sex crazed monkeys." Barton sighed. "I know it's not that way everywhere, but that's how it is here."

"But they call you Angel." The woman prompted. "You don't find that degrading?"

"It's better than Gonorrhea." She shrugged. The crew laughed. "Nick names are just nick names. Mine's ironic."

Luz, who just happened to catch the end of their conversation, called. "Yeah, we all think Angel is ugly as sin! But she's a bro." He was kidding, and Angel smiled, nodding her agreement.

"See, I'm a bro." She glanced over at Eugene, who was back to his list. His face turned sour by something.

Later that night Eugene turned to her suddenly. "I know you know you can trust me." He took a breath. "And so if anyone gives you any… if anyone bothers you, or makes you uncomfortable… please, don't suffer on." Barton's face softened. "I will do everything in my power to make sure you're alright. I promise, just like I promised to fix you."

Barton swallowed, and nodded. "Thank you, Eugene." And suddenly she knew why she couldn't just laugh the question about Eugene off. It was because he was different from the other soldiers of Easy Company. Hell he was different from anyone she ever met. He was special. He meant more to her than anyone else could ever mean to her.

"And just so you know, what Luz said…" Barton waved him off.

"Nah, it didn't bother me." She guessed where he was going. "I know I'm-"

Eugene cut her off. "He's wrong. You're very beautiful Claire."

And for the first time, in a long time, her cheeks flooded, her heart warmed. If anyone else in the company had said it, Barton would have laughed it off. But Eugene said it with such sincerity that it felt rude to take it lightly. "Thank you." She stuttered.

He didn't say anything after that. He quickly dimmed the lamps in the tent and said his goodnights. But not before Barton caught a blush staining his own cheeks.

* * *

Roe was only a little surprised when Claire stormed into the medic quarters. He was more surprised it took her this long to come find him. If he hadn't been waiting to be assigned his bunk, Roe would have started looking for her.

"Hello, did you get situated?" Roe asked. They stood next his low, lumpy, pee-smelling, bed. Roe was just happy he had a bed.

"What?" She was thrown slightly by the question. "Oh, yeah. I did." She looked at his bunk. "You will never believe it, but that's not why I'm here." And Claire launched into the story of the patrol.

Roe sank down onto the mattress, livid beyond words. How could anyone think that this fool's errand was a good idea? It would only get men killed.

"And they only want Easy?" Roe knew the answer, but he still had to ask. "Great."

Claire sat down next to him on his bunk, stretching her bad knee out in front of them. "I want you to release me." She spoke evenly, and calmly. She had asked this of him every day since she was put under his care.

This time, it was different.

"Okay." He nodded. "I'll go talk to Winters tonight." Claire didn't smile. She didn't react. Anger and sadness brought on by the patrol weighed too heavily on both their minds.

"Thank you." Claire murmured. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

"Have you been taking your pills?" Roe asked, just to break the oppressive, ominous silence. It reminded him too much of when Barton was missing. She nodded, and the silence continued. Roe grew anxious.

"Who's Webster?" She finally asked. The tension building in Roe's mind was soothed.

"He got injured in when the company was in Baghdad." He explained. Roe remembered bandaging Webster; he remembered doing paper work for his recovery. He remembered thinking that he would be on the line again soon.

"He's back," Claire explained. "He, and a new Lieutenant from West Point. Her name is Harriet Jones."

"What is she here for?"

" I don't know, but since we lost Compt…" Claire struggled with the name for a brief second. "Compton." She sighed heavily and a small, familiar ache appeared in his heart. Watching her struggle was still unbelievably hard to stand.

"I guess she's a new platoon leader." Roe nodded, it made sense. "Although I don't think it's permanent. I think this is just something she has to do before she gets promoted."

"It might be good to have a West Pointer in the Company." Roe commented, again just to make conversation. He only cared that Easy Company wouldn't have another Dike again. He didn't think a West Pointer would be so incompetent, but he's been wrong before.

Claire chuckled humorlessly. "She's so strict and uptight." Then real mirth entered her eyes. "She'll have half of the company written up on infractions before the days out." Roe smiled gently. Rule following, was not Easy's strong point. "She threatened to write me up about my hair, apparently" And here Barton straightened up, raised one finger in the air, and pulled a face. "Buns and short hair are the only female hair styles permitted on in service" Her voice was caught between a high nasally voice and a pompous one.

Roe laughed with earnest, and soon Claire joined him.

It was the happiest moment either of them has had in a while.

* * *

_Two days ago_

The company was finally moving out. Boxes of supplies were being prepared for shipment to their new home, the men checked and rechecked their packs for any valuables (army property or otherwise) that might have been left or swiped by other dubious soldiers. At the moment Perconte and a reinforcement soldier were arguing over an old, likely broken, watch.

Barton watched the shouting escalate from her perch. She was placed on a small boulder by Roe, as he finished making sure all the prescription pills were in order. She would have normally badgered him until he let her do something, instead of being left on this rock to fry, but she was being a good patient. Eugene had allowed her to start walking again.

For short walks, slow paced ambles, and brief amounts of standing, Barton was cleared to cast off her crutches. Her knee was healing nicely, bruising was fading, and the brace helped strengthen the weakened muscles and tendons around the joint. Her other bruises were healing as well.

However, as evident by how she jumped every time a crate was dropped particularly loudly, or a round of gunfire went off; she shied away whenever someone unfamiliar came too close. Although her body was healing, her mind was still scarred.

Every night she woke up to a caring, understanding, Eugene Roe. He held her when she allowed him to, and kept his distance when she needed him to. He made her smile, and forget the dark thoughts that clouded her mind, if only briefly.

Even his voice – soft, warm, and husky at times, authoritative, commanding, and powerful at others- set her at ease.

"Everything in check, Gene?" She asked, as he set down his folder finally.

"Yes," He tucked the folder securely under his arm. "Now all we can do-" Eugene was cut off by a man careening to the pair.

"Commander Lipton is vomiting blood." The man wheezed out in one breath before he sucked in a gigantic gulp of air.

Barton struggled to her feet as Eugene bolted towards CP. Her heart was hammering and she instinctively ran after him, every step a disjointed stride accompanied with a burst of pain.

"Ma'am!" The runner called out. Barton didn't stop, she couldn't. Lipton needed her, and Eugene needed her.

Taking on the role of Easy's only medic was taxing, both his body and mind. Barton knew he hardly ate, he barley slept, he worked constantly. Not to mention the strain of having to see his friends, allies, brothers, torn apart.

It was like watching a pilot in a slow, gentle, but none-the-less deadly, down spiral.

Barton wished she could do more, wished she could share the load as she once promised. But she could do nothing more than sit and be useless.

The CP was a cluttered mess, a nightmare for Winters probably. Boxes acted as tables, while actual tables lay folded up, ready for departure. A circle of men stood in the middle of the tented area. A soft Cajun croon came from the center.

Barton pushed her way through to find Roe half holding-half comforting a distressed Lipton. The Commander was pale, sweaty, and his lips were stained with an awful dark crimson. The stench of vomit and blood clung to him.

"Claire, I need water." Eugene commanded, forgetting briefly that she was not supposed to be working. She turned to the runner, who had followed her, and tore the canteen off his pack. The man looked as if she had shot him.

Barton knelt next Eugene and Lipton. She passed him the canteen and started wiping the blood off of Lipton's face. "Here, I've got him." Barton shifted so that Lipton lay in a tangle of arms between her and Eugene. "Get the stethoscope. You'll be faster."

Eugene took her orders without question, his movements mechanical. A new strain of fear wormed her way into heart; one that had nothing to do with Lipton's illness.

Roe preformed the basic vitals examination. "What has he been eating?" Barton demanded as Lipton wheeze out breath after breath for Roe. Bubbles of blood formed over his mouth, popping periodically, leaving Lipton's face covered in splatters as if it was a crime scene.

"Rations, same as everyone else." Winters answered, panicked. "Something could have been contaminated." Lipton coughed blood again, nearly vomiting. Barton checked to make sure his air ways were clear.

"You don't say." Eugene commented dryly. "How long has he been like this?" His voice was strident, as if he wasn't talking to the Captain of their company.

"We don't know." Nixon broke in. "He just collapsed." Eugene was still angry.

"Well did Lip start looking bad? Paler, disappearing for short moments, not eating right?" Barton questioned, letting Eugene carry on with his exam in angry silence.

"Maybe, the only time I saw Lipton was when he came to report for Dike." Winters admitted. No one asked where Dike was at this moment, no one cared.

"I'm thinking general tranq. for right now, just to make him rest, then-" Gunfire rattled, and men shouted. Barton froze, her vision tunneling. Her breath heaved in and out of her body, yet she felt asphyxiated. She wasn't cradling Lipton anymore. This was Buck, propped against her in a vehicle. Both their heads were covered. Pain, unbelievable pain rocketed through her knee and she almost screamed.

"Claire!" The voice came as if through water. She could hardly hear the garbled word. It was too foreign for her ears to understand. The Arabic language surrounded hear in harsh voices. Her hands shook. She was going to die. Die. Die. _Die. DIE._

"CLAIRE!" Someone seized her and she screamed. Her heart threated to beat out of her chest, and her vision spun. Her forearms burned in this man's grip. She struggled to get free, throwing Buck off of her in the process. "It's me, it's me! Come on Claire." Things were slowly becoming clearer. The voice of Eugene Roe calling her back to reality…

A reality that was exploding around them. "Claire, are you with me?" He was staring into her face, she couldn't see him well; he was blurry.

She nodded in answer to his question. "I need you to watch Lipton, keep his airways clear! I'm" and the rest of his words were drowned out by a bomb, and a scream. It was high pitched, and terrified… and hers. "GOT THAT?!" Eugene shouted louder. "I'll be back! I promise!"

Barton backed up wrapping one arm around Lipton's chest, the other on the gun she had taken to carrying with her. Roe jumped up and ran away.

Barton couldn't hear anything, not the cry for a medic, not Lipton's moans, not her own sobs. All she heard was Eugene's promise to be back.

It took a while, but eventually Eugene came back.

He was weary, bloodstained, and upset. But he was back.

The enemy had started a barrage on a few of the early trucks that had come to help the movement of supplies, Barton was told later, a few men including Captain Dike, who was overseeing the loading of the trucks, were killed. A few injured. People said that Lieutenant Speirs of Dog Company, single handedly lead a charge straight into enemy fire, scattering the assailants and saving a lot of Easy Company lives. Speirs was awarded Captain of E Company soon after.

Barton couldn't care less about this. What she cared about was Eugene, and this minor attack had sent him one step closer to the breaking point.

* * *

Barton didn't hear about the casualty until the following morning.

Her night had been spent worrying about Eugene, the upcoming patrol, her friends who were being sent on a pointless patrol into enemy territory, and for what? A few prisoners.

She was uncomfortable about the prisoner ordeal. If the plan was to simply cut a power supply, or destroy a well, or some other way to harm the enemy, it would be fine… but since it was a prisoner snatch…

Guns, and loud memories blared in her mind. She flinched and curled in on herself instinctively. The small memory enough to emulate fear.

Her caring heart would never want anyone to have to deal with what she had to… is still having to…

Searching out her refuge, she limped to the medic's quarters.

The quarters were packed, people crowded around DVD players and laptops watching movies, individuals packing their bags again and again as if it were a nervous tick, and some slept catching a brief moments of rest before work began again. Roe was not in his cubby hole of a living space.

Barton searched around, asking some of the passing medics if they'd seen him. All shook their heads in answer, until one.

His face grew grim, unusually thick eyebrows knit together, "He's in filing." And thrust a meaty finger in the direction of a door labeled something Barton couldn't read.

"Thanks." She nodded and turned to go.

"Take care of him." The medic advised. Barton turned back.

"I always will." She answered, and left to find Roe.

As Barton picked her way across the crowded room the sign became clearer. The word "R.I.P" was scrawled in sharpie on the wood. Barton's stomach sank.

She gently pushed open the door. It was a dimly lit room, with a single desk with a computer resting on it. A hunched, shell of a man sat motionless at that computer. "Eugene?" She murmured. The man flinched, and wiped his hand over his face.

"Claire?" Eugene answered, his voice pitched slightly lower than normal. He turned and his eyes were tinged with red. Sleep deprivation Barton guessed. "Sorry, there was…" He again rubbed his hand over his face, dragging his already gaunt cheeks out. "A casualty this morning. A bomb planted a few feet from the fence. Blew up and caught him in the chest. Shredded." He spoke in thin, broken, sentences. His hands shook, and his eyes were fixed on nothing.

Barton almost cried. "Eugene," She said walking over to him, tenderly taking him by the arm. He obediently got out of the chair. "Come on, let's go get breakfast." His eyes fell on her, then shifted out of focus. Barton wondered if that's what she looked like, trapped in her memories.

She tugged at Eugene's arm. "Come on Gene." And she led him out of the R.I.P room.

"Winters told me to tell you that you are officially back on the job as a medic." Eugene spoke as if he was vacant, somewhere else. "You can go back to fixing people."

Barton silently wished she could fix people with just a say so from winters. She would fix Eugene in a second if that were true.

But it isn't. And Eugene was too far gone to be fixed that easily.

* * *

**So kind of a filler. The patrol was mentioned in here briefly but it will be the main focus of next chapter. Sorry it played such a minor role, I really wanted to have this chapter focused heavily on the rising tension to that, but Roe got in the way. **

**This chapter was rewritten like three times because I just hated how it was originally suppose to play out. (you can catch a small glimpse of the horribleness in the camera crew flash back [I apologize for the awkwardness, and the stupidity of that moment]) **

**This way it leads, logically, into the next chapter, which hopefully I'll have out soon... **

**Thank you for reading, reviewing, alerting etc. especially if you just happened across this story. You all are beautiful.**


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